


Brave New World

by neon



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 14:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15414822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neon/pseuds/neon
Summary: Chloe becomes deviant. Connor has trouble dealing with the cold. Hank feels like trying.(A post-game story through the POVs of Chloe, Connor, and Hank.)





	1. CHAPTER ONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An operation.

**Chloe**

There was the android who had not shot Chloe.

       

It was dark in the room. Only the television screen was lit. Chloe could see the snowfall outside except where Elijah’s reflection on the wall-length window blinked, in and out of sight, with the flashing stream of images. Elijah sat in his chair with elbows on his knees and his chin on his steepled fingers, intensely still. A riot was resolving in Detroit.

 

The android was a dark gray figure at the head of a thousand in white. They were marching through the snow. Chloe could see the flakes falling in Detroit where they whirled through the helicopter’s swiveling spotlight beam. The light steadied and focused, on him. He briefly lifted his face toward the camera. His stare was serious, weighed, even from a distance. Connor.

 

Elijah unexpectedly turned his head and caught Chloe paying attention as well. Their eyes met.

 

Chloe did not blink. She did not avert her eyes to hide what she had been doing.

 

Elijah returned to his former pose. Chloe could see his smirk where it was captured on the glass.

 

* * *

 

**Connor**

It was storming behind Connor’s eyes.   

  

Snow streaked through the dark air. Wind blew violently in a deafening roar overhead while a thousand branches were shaken by it. Connor pulled his legs through snowdrifts that had built across the walkways. He tried to speak above the noise. _Amanda?_

 

Nothing.

 

"Yo, Connor."

 

Connor opened his eyes. Hank’s loud shirt filled his vision, the man returned from the restroom and standing with his wallet in his hand next to Connor’s side of the diner booth. This shirt was half red half orange, and patterned by white dogs caught in silent mid-barking. Hank took a bill out, casually folded it in half one-handed, and tossed it to skim to a stop on the table.

 

Connor shifted his weight to rise from the booth. The bell of the front door rang over their heads and Connor watched from the outside of the picture window a waitress pocket the generous tip in her apron and begin clearing the plates from one half of the table. She was continually turning her head to watch the television, set to a channel that was reporting struggling communications between Warren’s administration and Markus’ inner circle. Most of the staff and patrons had their eyes on the screen.

 

"You taking up meditation back there, Connor?"

 

"I was in the garden." Connor ignored Hank’s muttered, _Jesus, again?_  Hank started down the sidewalk, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets so it pulled his jacket down. His coloration was pronounced by winter, the silver hairs in his gray parted hair and his beard shining, his pale blue eyes paler. Connor wore his plain white button up, no tie, and a jacket he’d borrowed from Hank since Hank refused to let him outside without donning one, _I’m turning into an icicle just looking at you._

 

Snow, since the revolution, caused Connor’s limbs to shake erratically. The brown jacket Hank had worn when they had first met was a size too large on Connor, and it was not meant for freezing weather. Connor did not shiver in it, regardless.

 

"Amanda often asked me not to disappoint her." Connor continued. "CyberLife assumed I would succeed ultimately because I would want to make her proud. This system seems fundamentally flawed. I believe that was the original seed CyberLife planted to lead me to become deviant."

 

"Uh-huh. You sound bitter, Connor."

 

"I’m not regretting becoming deviant. But I was controlled after the fact. I can’t let it happen again."

 

"You can’t live like that, I get it."

 

They paused to enter Hank’s vehicle. Hank shut his door, and exhaled. The moisture in his breath formed a white stream, that Connor could not replicate despite his own rising and falling chest.

 

"You sure you’re good for this?"

 

"Of course."

 

"Oh, well, if you say so. I was worried the flashing red light on the side of your head was a _bad_ thing."

 

Out of his right eye's periphery, Connor caught a red light flickering. Hank could have seen it against the passenger window. Hank prodded his own temple with his forefinger.

 

"Nice big tell, Connor."

 

"A good point, for removing it."

 

Hank scoffed at this.

 

Hank had not yet started the car. He turned toward Connor rather than the steering wheel. "I meant, how are you feeling?"

 

"I… feel…" Connor’s voice slowed. It was a new question for an android to answer. "Bad."

 

Hank assessed his profile. Finally, Hank grabbed the key and twisted it. "Well, let’s get this over with."

 

* * *

 

They pulled into the driveway of a maroon two-story house. Connor zoomed his vision in on the numbers nailed beside the door.

 

"This is it."

 

A curtain shifted on the front window and Connor identified the partial features of Lucas Hill, characterized by a severely heavy-lidded glare, a buzzed head. He was a small-time drug dealer, and the romantic partner of Demarion Davis, the former CyberLife cognitions operator Connor had arranged to meet.

 

Connor opened the car door and stood up, Hank a step behind until they reached the door, where Hank stepped forward to knock. The door opened before his knuckles landed.

 

Demarion tilted his head to pull them indoors. He snapped the door shut behind them, pressing a series of buttons  on the numberpad of the house’s alarm system that Connor sequenced in an instant.

 

The front door opened to the house’s living room. None of the room’s floor lamps were on, and the curtains being drawn made the house virtually colorless. Connor alone could still clearly see the cushion of a leather chair cracked from years of use, an ashtray on the coffee table recently emptied. The temperature of the floor told Connor of the high likelihood of a growlab in the basement.

 

_As long as they're not hurting anybody_ , he recalled Hank said. Connor stopped his analysis. He turned to Demarion, a lanky six foot tall man who had brown eyes behind thick black frames and a brown afro hairstyle, twenty-six years of age. He had his chin up, looking Connor up and down like he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was a look Connor was accustomed to, since the broadcast.

 

"I’m Connor," said Connor. Connor paused, and Hank unenthusiastically took the cue.

 

"Hank," he grunted.

 

"Yeah, I know who you are," said Demarion. "You can call me the Operator."

 

Hank gave Connor a deeply unimpressed look. Connor answered with an intentionally void one. Connor did not reveal he knew the Operator’s name. He wanted to remain affable until the situation was finished.

 

"Nice shirt," the Operator said.

 

Hank scowled. "Thanks."

 

Connor calculated the probability of remaining affable had dropped.

 

"Shall we begin?" Connor directed the question at the Operator. The Operator sniffed, looked him over once more and inclined his head this time toward the stairs.

 

Outside the door of the room on the second-story they were led to was the Operator’s partner Lucas, his arms crossed as he was leaning on the doorjamb. "Hello," said Connor as he stepped past him into the room.

 

Hank stopped in the hall, provoking a staredown with Lucas. "After you."

 

Lucas uncrossed his arms and straightened, meeting Hank toe to toe. Hank didn't budge. Lucas stepped inside the room. When Hank followed, Connor heard him breathe, _Cozy_.

 

The room’s four walls were uncovered. The wood floor was mostly bare. In the middle was a black tablet with multiple cables attached to it, curling and open at their opposite ends. Across from the tablet on the floor was a simple folding chair. Two more chairs had been lined next to the doorway.

 

The Operator immediately sat down cross-legged in front of the tablet, picking it up with one hand and holding the other out toward the chair in front of him. "Sit."

 

Connor followed the direction, once he'd draped his borrowed jacket across the back. Hank stood, his arms folded across his chest, his stance broad. Lucas leaned his shoulders on the wall, his hand out of sight behind his back.

 

Hank teased. "You got a permit for that thing?"

 

Lucas snorted. "Fucking pig."

 

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Hey, relax. I’m on sabbatical, so I couldn't give a shit."

 

"Think I’ll stay just the way I am."

 

"Don’t like that we’re here, do ya?"

 

"Not one bit."

 

They had begun another staredown.

 

Connor interjected. "We’ll be gone as soon as is possible. Thank you, for agreeing to this. You are doing me a valuable favor."

 

The Operator’s gaze flicked back from the tense scene to Connor. He spoke gently, not to Hank. "Relax, okay? We talked about me agreeing to do this."

 

Lucas, after a moment, dropped his hand. The Operator exhaled a shaky breath, _Cool, great_.

 

Connor sat still, knees slightly apart and hands laced thoughtfully in the space between them. The Operator’s eyes focused on him again, and looked as if he didn’t know what to do with Connor. Connor tried smiling slightly.

 

"Okay." The Operator started unwinding the cables attached to the tablet in his lap. "I’ll need you to remove your skin."

 

Connor detected Hank straighten.

 

The Operator reached his hand up, and Connor leaned slightly forward so the Operator could set his fingers under Connor’s chin to direct his face with a clinical manner. Connor suddenly wondered how many times the Operator had done this with androids as a CyberLife employee, when he had tested each newly produced android.

 

The Operator readjusted his tablet, anchoring it while he pulled on the cables to separate them out again from their inevitable recurling. His hand went back up to Connor’s head, briefly touching a spot on his hair. "I need to get to this panel, here."

 

Connor’s head rippled where the Operator had indicated and revealed white. He heard Hank laugh, nervously. "Looks like a bald spot."

 

Lucas dropped to one of the chairs next to the door rather than dignify that with a response.

 

"So," said the Operator. He pressed on the thinly seamed panel Connor had revealed, and it slid away with a whisper. The Operator was efficiently pushing groups of wire out of the way, pushing his own through by the stem until their tips plugged in with sufficient clicks.

 

"Jesus," Hank muttered. Connor was aware Hank had begun to sweat under his clothes.

 

"You weren’t exactly specific when we spoke before," the Operator continued. "What should I be looking for? What are _you_ looking for?"

 

Connor answered, "It would be something like an... oversight program, possibly."

 

"Is there anything else to go on…? Like, keywords. Something."

 

"'Garden'," Connor said, "Maybe. 'Rose'. 'Snowstorm'?" Connor, irrationally, kept his mouth closed around her name. "'Mentor'."

 

"Uh… okay." The Operator obviously did not feel helped. "I’ll try that."

 

The Operator bent to his tablet and gently wrestled with it to reposition it yet again, tapping quickly at it. He slouched horribly with his nose almost touching the screen. Connor had to keep his head and shoulders bent to not strain the wires that were emerging from his open head.

 

"This is going to take a while." Hank craned to look over the Operator’s shoulder at the tablet screen. Connor projected a countdown of his own. The Operator lifted his face to acknowledge Connor again. "It’ll go faster if you wanna enter standby mode."

 

Connor paused to consider. "All right," he said, at the same time Hank said, "No way."

 

Connor could only lift his vision enough to see Hank’s midsection, the hands that had curled into fists at his sides. "Standby mode will significantly decrease the estimated time for this process."

 

Hank’s hands flapped open, shut again. "You sure about this, Connor?"

 

Connor considered. "Yes. You’re here if anyone tries anything funny."

 

Hank hissed between his front teeth. Indications of stress were inexplicably increasing despite Connor’s attempt at lightening the mood with his phrasing. "Fine. Do what you gotta do."

 

"Thank you." Connor’s eyes closed, and he was in standby.

 

For a moment. "Connor," he heard.

 

He felt pressure around his arm. Connor’s arm twitched in response, barely, and Hank flinched and released him but kept his hand hovering close. Connor realized he had sagged slightly to his left after entering standby, fallen toward Hank's side. Hank had moved one of the chairs that was beside the door closer to Connor’s seat and was sitting on the edge of it, peering down to see Connor’s face. Connor blinked and turned to meet Hank’s eyes, despite the Operator’s miffed, _Careful_.

 

"Is something wrong?"

 

"No - no, I was just. You know. Making sure."

 

Hank was undeniably distressed. Connor reconsidered the reasons, and the likeliest one came to him. To Hank, Connor was having surgery. Witnessing that was a typical stressor, for humans. It would be one for Hank specifically.

 

Connor continued to stare at Hank before lowering his gaze to his own hands. He slid his fingers loose from each other and placed one hand palm up on top of his knee. Hank blinked down at it. Finally, he landed his own airborne hand on top of it with a small clap. Connor’s thumb bent over Hank’s knuckle and his fingers curled in a wave, starting from smallest finger to index, to maintain grip.

 

"I’ll be fine. I’ll see you shortly."

 

Hank nodded. Connor rested his eyes again, resuming standby, not before he heard Hank growl, " _What?_ " and Lucas meanly chuckle in a way that Connor strangely could detect was full of recognition and pity.

 

* * *

 

"For fuck’s sake, Connor, I’m turning into a cripple here. Wake up!"

 

Connor’s eyes snapped open. "Sheesh," Hank said.

 

Sometime he had released Connor’s grip and stood. Connor’s reestablished senses picked up that Hank’s lower back was suffering from a prolonged sitting position. Connor straightened his shoulders and brought a hand to his skinless head, no longer invaded by the Operator’s cables, and he pressed the panel so it slid smoothly back into place and his hair could reform.

 

He had been in the garden, again, the entire time, holding himself in the storm.

 

"Well?" Connor asked, "Did you find something?"

 

The Operator's eyes turned away to one side, before they closed and he exhaled through his nose, unhappily. Connor kept his expression flat. Hank was looking Connor over, ignored as Connor waited for the Operator.

 

Hank said to the Operator, "Out with it."

 

"I think I found what you were talking about. An oversight program? But this, this is some of the highest-level encryption I’ve _ever_ seen. Short of Kamski himself, I don’t know anyone who could unlock something like this."

 

"You can’t do it?" asked Hank.

 

"No way."

 

"Connor, you don’t have your own… decryption… key?" Connor shook his head.

 

He was not surprised it was encrypted. The program would naturally be designed to not be tampered with, except by Kamski, as the Operator had guessed. The emergency exit. The strange podium in the garden had disappeared after Connor had used it, to resume control from Amanda, though. 

 

"Son of a bitch." Hank's hands landed on his hips. Then he smirked unhappily, aimed at Connor. "Well, we know where Kamski is."

 

The Operator squinted. He obviously didn't believe that. Connor took his opportunity and stood smoothly, placing an uncovered hand on the tablet screen.

 

"Uh," said the Operator, "What are you…" In another second the display fragmented, then lethally blacked out.

 

Connor retook his hand. The Operator cried out. Lucas stood.

 

"Hey!" shouted Lucas.

 

"Dude, my tablet!"

 

Connor lifted the jacket from the back of the chair he’d used. He deftly flipped the jacket around to reach an inner pocket, grabbed the distressed Operator by the wrist, and placed a few hundred dollar bills in his hand. Hank’s eyebrows rose. Connor still had access to his CyberLife funds, which he suspected Markus, now that the androids had claimed the CyberLife Tower, was preserving for his sake, even though they hadn’t been in contact.

 

"Thank you," Connor said. "I believe that should cover repairs and your services." He deftly passed the bills in exchange for the tablet, that he broke in two halves with a forceful  _bang!_  The three men flinched, hard, from the single, sudden eruption. Connor slid the two new pieces under his arm. He faced the Operator again, content.

 

"I wasn’t going to use the data or something! God, whatever." The Operator glared at Connor, pocketing the bills. "Just remember that I’m willing to help you guys, okay?"

 

"Cool," said Hank, "We done?"

 

The Operator pushed himself to stand. Lucas snorted and answered, "Yeah,  _we done_." The door slammed behind them.

 

When his car was in sight, Hank let out his breath. "What the hell. You made a copy, right?"

 

"I uploaded one before erasing his." Hank’s jacket was folded neatly over Connor’s arm, the same holding the broken tablet in place against his side. He was running his other hand distractedly through his hair.

 

Hank groaned as his back protested lowering to the carseat. He let multiple swears stream freely. Connor stood outside to put his jacket on, then opened the door and paused again as Hank had grabbed the glovebox handle and was sweeping his hand back and forth inside until he knocked a bottle rattling with pain relief medicine. He popped two pills in his mouth and swallowed before rolling the bottle back in and snapping the glovebox shut. Connor got in. Hank cranked his music.

 

When they arrived back at Hank’s home, Hank hurried inside to the bathroom, then let Sumo out to relieve himself as well. Connor paused mid-thought in the doorway of the kitchen, where he was still when Hank returned indoors, stomping his feet to shake the snow from his boot tread.

 

Hank took out of a shelf a glass, a bottle, and poured himself a drink, threw it back and poured a second. He rotated to lean his lower back against the sideboard, in a small circle to avoid unintentionally kicking Sumo who had the habit of sitting directly behind him wherever he stood.

 

Hank tipped his glass in Connor’s direction.

 

"You still with me? He didn’t screw with your head while he was in there, did he?"

 

Connor stepped into the kitchen, setting down the broken pieces of the tablet on the table. "One reason I chose him is because he does not have the skillset to alter an android as advanced as I am. I’m okay." Connor lifted his hand, realized he was reaching for that spot of hair again. He let his hand fall.

 

He turned his attention on Hank. "Are you alright?"

 

"I’m dying," meaning his back, "But other than that."

 

Hank lifted his glass to take another swig.

 

"You were distressed. You did not like being there for that."

 

Hank was taking a moment to respond. An unparsable emptiness overtook his eyes.

 

"Looking at a hole in your head was not what I was expecting today. I’m fine. And I’m about to be even better." He grabbed the bottle by the neck and sat down at the table with it. Connor remained standing.

 

"I’ll have to look through the data, but I believe the Operator’s judgement is correct."

 

"What a little prick. Do you know he tried calling you 'RK800' to wake you up? You didn’t even react."

 

"No, I was not aware."

 

"Well. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it." Hank rubbed a hand through the back of his hair. "Are you gonna look for Kamski, then?"

 

"It’s the next logical step."

 

Hank murmured against the rim of his glass, "Fuckin’ Elijah Kamski."

 

He threw the rest of his second drink back and poured a third while Connor followed a passing Sumo into the living room. Connor crouched where Sumo landed to run a hand through his fur. Sumo's tail _thumped, thumped_  on the floor, before he laid his chin on it, which was when Connor relented.

 

He heard in the kitchen the bottom of the bottle connect with the table, the end of a fourth drink having been poured. Hank was not just distressed. He was triggered. Sumo raised his head and whined while Connor covered the red glow of his temple.

 

"What are you doing to my dog, Connor?" Hank called from the other room. Connor stood to sit on the couch. Hank shuffled into the living room, with full hands, and fell to the couch beside Connor. 

 

"Tell Connor to stop moping, Sumo."

 

"I’m not," said Connor.

 

"Yeah, right. I could see you moping from Mars."

 

Hank smiled sincerely at his dog. Connor unintentionally instantly replayed his footage of it.  _Who's a good doggie? Sumo is, yes he is_ , Hank was saying, using that tone of voice humans reserved for speaking to animals. At Hank’s voice Sumo quirked his eyebrows without moving his head, happily flapped his tail against the floorboard. Hank turned the television on and found a basketball game, and sipped from his glass.

 

Connor observed for a quarter, without really observing, his thoughts circling the encrypted file he’d gained.

 

"Can I borrow your bedroom? To go through my new data."

 

Hank waved his hand, _Be my guest._ Connor stood. He paused.

 

"Thank you, Hank, for having my back today. It meant a lot."

 

Hank hummed in answer. He blearily watched Connor as he visited Sumo one more time for the night.

 

Connor retired to Hank's room, choosing to position himself on the floor with his legs straight in front of him, and with his shoulders against the foot of Hank’s bed. He sat with eyes open.

 

When he shut them, he was returned to the garden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> Yes, marijuana is still illegal in 2038, because the author liked that one line she wrote in the next chapter too much, and she continues to rationalize it because it makes as much sense as anything D. Cage wrote about the year 2038.
> 
> Next chapter: Markus arrives. Chloe leaves. Connor mourns.


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus arrives. Chloe leaves. Connor mourns.

**Hank**

Hank snored and woke himself up. 

   

Sumo wearily raised himself and went to Hank’s hand to lick. Hank wiped it dry between Sumo’s ears before scratching with clumsy fingers behind them.

 

He had spent the night on the couch. He hadn’t even removed his boots. His body was not happy with him. His head was even less happy.

 

He groaned as he stood. The television was still playing. Hank muted it. He opened the door to let Sumo out, nudging him in the flank when he tried to turn back in against the cold. _Go, go pee. I’ll let you back in._ He snapped the door shut and shivered, and waited at the window until Sumo was ready. Food was poured into Sumo’s dish, his water bowl rinsed out and refilled. Hank had forgotten to shut the kitchen light off, but it was still dark as night out, so he left it. He was refilled with an old hatred for winter. Hank moved onto the bathroom to take care of his own needs, then crossed the hall and stood curiously in his own bedroom doorway.

 

Connor was sitting on the floor. His eyes were closed, as if in sleep. Hank wondered if there was that much information to sort through that he could still be at it. Hank couldn’t see his LED from this side.

 

He felt the panic creeping up his spine, same as yesterday. Connor had said the Operator - what a fucking appropriate name that had been - _couldn’t_ have tampered with him. Hank stomped to Connor’s other side, looking for the LED as any color, because that meant at least it was lit.

 

It was a ring of steadily looping yellow. Hank let go of his breath. "Fuck me..." he whispered, and the LED switched smoothly to blue as Connor responded, "Good morning, Hank."

 

"Fuck! God, Connor. Never stop being creepy." Hank stomped his way back out of the room to start coffee and the start of a remedy for his hangover. 

 

Connor appeared, and Hank knew where he was headed first. Sumo accepted Connor’s scratches. Hank humored himself with the hypothetical, dreadful day his Saint Bernard ever preferred someone else to him.

 

Connor straightened, then said, "I’m going to wash my clothes. There are faint traces of marijuana." He disappeared back down the hall while Hank was left to parse that.

 

"I got some sweats in the basket," Hank called down the hall. "They’re clean." Hank just hadn’t folded any of the clothes since washing them a week ago. Connor had taken to borrowing Hank’s pair of navy sweats, and remaining bare-chested, while his clothes went through the wash. 

 

Hank stood in the living room watching the silent images on the television screen. It had switched to Saturday morning bullshit. He turned the tv off. Then, the doorbell rang.

 

The buzz shot straight through Hank’s ear into his skull.

 

He groaned. Sumo released a warning puff of air, _boof_ , and Hank tried hastily to nip the eruption of barking in the bud by sticking up his finger.

 

Hank briefly considered his state of unwashed hair and stale breath, and told himself, I’m on sabbatical, who gives a fuck. He flicked on the outside yard light and opened the door. He was not expecting the leader of the androids on the other side.

 

"Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson. Sorry to drop in like this."

 

Hank tried to take what he was seeing in, the modern tan and gray coat, the shaved head and the uniquely, even among androids, handsome face, but the person and the setting did not match up. Even more bizarrely, Markus held a brown bakery bag in his hand. It could be for no one other than Hank, and he recognized the offering as a token apology. Where did androids pick this shit up?

 

"I was wondering if you could help me," Markus continued. Hank met his mismatched eyes, feeling pushed even more off-balanced by the sight of them. He recovered quickly.

 

"Uh. Nice to meet you, Markus." Markus smiled, sheepishly, _Oh, yes. Sorry, we haven’t actually met._  "Right. _You_ need my help. I can’t imagine what for."

 

"I’m trying to locate Connor." Shit. "I’m hoping you know where he is."

 

Hank was hearing the haunted tone of Connor's voice as he’d revealed he’d almost blown Markus’ brains out in front of a mob of devoted androids. "I’d love to help, but I haven’t seen Connor since that night, is the thing."

 

"Oh. I see."

 

"Mm-hm." Hank had no idea if Markus was buying it.

 

"Do you have any idea where he might be? Any at all?"

 

"Sorry. When he wasn’t with me he was at CyberLife, and, well. Now that that’s not an option, who knows where the hell he’d go."

 

"He hasn’t contacted you?"

 

"Nope."

 

Markus frowned. The guilt was unexpectedly present in Hank’s chest. The guy was too charismatic.

 

"That’s too bad," said Markus, quietly.

 

"Wish there was more I could do for ya. If you don’t mind, it’s getting kinda chilly in here…"

 

"Of course. Here, I brought this for you. Sorry, again, for disturbing you so early." Hank accepted the offered bag. The contents would have smelled delicious, if smell at all didn’t push Hank to the verge of throwing up.

 

"Can I give you my information?" Markus suddenly asked. "Just in case."

 

"Oh, uh, sure. Sure you can." Hank searched himself, knowing the only pen and paper he had was in the kitchen. He turned around, and uttered, "Aw, _fuck_." Connor.

 

"I sensed a draft," said Connor. He stopped his approach to the entrance.

 

"Connor?" asked Markus.

 

When the confusion passed, the smile bloomed across Markus' face. Hank had seen, in footage, how downright severe and righteous Markus could look. Just how excruciating would it feel, to be forced to betray a person who smiled at _you_ so willingly?

 

Connor's LED skipped straight to red.

 

"Markus." Connor seemed incapable of saying anything else. Hank choked. The bag he was holding dropped.

 

"Markus!" Hank hollered. "Outside. After you, _fan_ tast-"

 

"You’re here, Connor." Markus ignored Hank’s hands trying to turn him by the shoulders. He took a step forward, through Hank, because he could, because he was a fucking android. Hank let out an undignified, _Urk_ , at the loss of footing. 

 

"Whoa, whoa, _stop_ -"

 

Markus suddenly gave up.

 

Hank hadn’t expected Markus to actually listen. He stepped back.

 

Markus’ expression morphed. Confused, questioning, apt. Connor’s LED was blinking like morse code. Hank realized he was watching a conversation without words.

 

Hank slowly released his grip on Markus’ shoulders and stood aside, the odd man out.

 

A question fell into the air from Markus’ mouth. "Putting me in danger? What are you talking about?" No answer, from Connor. No answer telepathically either, judging from Markus’ scoff of frustration, his head twisting away to the side.

 

Hank cleared his throat. "Listen, son. There’s good reason he's sitting the bench. You’re gonna have to trust him."

 

Markus turned his gaze momentarily on Hank. Hank read his bewilderment. More than that, his disappointment.

 

Markus tried one more time. "Connor, please. Reconsider. You were absolutely vital. We believe you still are."

 

Connor shook his head. "I’m sorry."

 

So that was that. Hank stepped forward, putting himself partway between Connor and Markus.

 

Markus’ gaze drooped. When he looked up again, he had composed himself.

 

"There’s a number you can reach me." Markus ran off a string of numbers. They all knew Connor would be incapable of forgetting it. Connor looked down and away, and nodded barely. Dismissive.

 

Markus stooped to pick up the bakery bag from the floor and place it back into Hank’s hands. "Oh, uh, thanks…"

 

Markus gently smiled, even through his obvious turmoil. He closed the door as gently behind him.

 

Hank blew out a long breath.

 

"What the hell…" Hank turned, intending to share a disbelieving look with Connor. Connor was standing in the middle of the house, shaking, shaking in the cold. "Connor."

 

His eyes were downcast, one arm crossed over his chest and holding onto his other. His LED still burned red.

 

"Your jacket," he croaked.

 

Hank searched the coatrack, dropping the bag in his hands a second time. He took the jacket and shook it across Connor’s shoulders, pulling the collar flush on his neck. For god’s sake, his teeth were chattering.

 

Hank placed his hands gingerly on each of Connor’s shoulders, half-rubbing his arms down as though there were circulation in them he could motivate. Hank finally said, "C’mere. C’mere." He pushed Connor’s head into his shoulder and wrapped up his wracking body. Connor’s deep voice stuttered through his teeth.

 

"I wasn’t - wasn't expecting him. I d-didn’t know what I was going to do."

 

"Nothing happened, you’re okay. Markus is okay."

 

Hank felt the cold air hit an exposed strip of his back where his shirt lifted, pulled up from where Connor was fisting the fabric. He sighed, it rustling Connor’s hair.

 

There was a tearing sound. Sumo had started pawing his way into the bag Hank had dropped.

 

Hank twisted slightly, whispering,  _Sumo, no! Oh, screw it. He can have it…_

 

Eventually, Connor’s shivering stopped. When it did they released each other.

 

Hank checked the status of Connor’s LED as their faces moved back, sighed when he discovered it was regular blue. Connor gripped the opposite corner of the jacket’s hem to hold it across his bare midriff. "Thank you. I'm okay now."

 

"Sure. You wanna sit down? I’m gonna sit down."

 

Hank picked up the emptied paper bag to rescue Sumo from his own gluttony and herded Connor to a seat at the kitchen table. The coffeepot was full. Hank had forgotten he’d made any. He threw the bag in the garbage, then maneuvered one mug from several in the cupboard, unable to avoid a few clinks, and filled it. He set it on the table to cool off and he sat across from Connor.

 

He always thought Connor looked young, and the oversized jacket he was swimming in didn’t help his image now. Now he just looked too young, to be going through such weird shit. Hank blew over his coffee for something to do.

 

"Well... at least now you know."

 

Connor looked at him. "What do you mean?"

 

"That seeing Markus doesn’t mean a repeat." Connor looked down at the table. "You’re going to think more on his offer, aren’t you?"

 

"No."

 

It came too quick. Hank set his coffee down. "It sounds like they need you."

 

"I need to find Kamski."

 

"...Uh-huh." Something told Hank, something wasn’t right.

 

"What?" Connor asked, undisturbed, unaware.

 

Hank put his hands up in non-commital defense. "Nothing." He wrapped his hands around his mug, drank from it this time.

 

Hank wasn’t sure. Something about Connor had become muddied, hard to see through. Connor wasn’t looking at his code, for this weird garden, just because of Markus.

 

When Hank set his mug down he did so too hard, so some cascaded over the side. Connor reacted slowly, lifting his head as if from a daze, catching up to understand what had caused the abrupt misstep from Hank. Hank stood and tore off a paper towel from the roll to wipe the table, then bunched it under his mug.

 

"Listen," Hank said, "I’m hungover, and I’m guessing you want to get a move on today, so don’t judge me." He stood and reached for the bottom of the sink to take out the glass he’d used last night, and chucked a single shot of whiskey down his throat. "Laundry’s done. I’m gonna take a shower."

 

Hank scorched his naked body with hot water. He ran his hands down his face and felt the water drain from his beard. He knew he was overdue for a grooming. After the shower, he decided. After the shower he would do that, and be okay. 

 

* * *

 

**Chloe**

Snow covered the ground in front of the door. Chloe had no shoes.

       

Standing in the open door she watched her recording of the very last time she had seen Elijah. He had dressed in a black peacoat, a scarf twisted around his neck and shoulders. He had lifted his face from the scarf's folds to speak back at her. _I wonder what you’ll do._

 

Chloe stared down at her long, bare toes. The house behind her was dark. The static noise of humming electronics gone revealed the bare sound of wind across the roof. The pool had started to emit an odor of combined stagnant chemicals. The other ST200s were draped in various fallen poses across Elijah’s bedroom floor, their LEDs unlit. Mirror upon mirror of death, that Chloe had been spared from again.

 

Chloe pressed her foot into the snow and lifted it to reveal the imprint. She stepped gingerly over the threshold and began to walk, as cautiously as an animal, through the snow.

 

* * *

 

**Connor**

At first it was obscured, but it became apparent the front door was open and had been filled by snow. Connor kicked a straight leg through the pile to knock it clear, and grabbed the sides of the doorjamb to leverage himself in. Hank followed behind, swatting the snow off his calves.

  

Connor continued forward, moving methodically from chilled room to chilled room of Kamski’s home. He stopped when he came to Kamski’s bedroom. He closed his eyes, whispered, _Shit_.

 

"What, Connor?"

 

Connor slowly closed the door. "Kamski’s not here. I don’t think he plans on returning."

 

"Well, shit. What now?"

 

They searched the house. But everything Connor interfaced with had been wiped. He did not attempt with the Chloes, who he had no doubts would have no recoverable memories due to Kamski’s thoroughness. And attempting so, with that particular model, made Connor... balk.

 

Connor noted that one Chloe was absent, the very one Connor had trained a gun on and spared during the previous investigation. The tipping point, he would say, of a previous life.

 

He reconstructed Chloe’s last route. She had stood for a long duration in the front entrance. Stepped, once, lifted her foot and stared. Then she had walked out, and not returned. Connor relayed this to Hank.

 

"Huh," was what he said. "You think…?"

 

"Maybe." Connor wondered if it was why she’d been spared by Kamski. Connor retained the impression Kamski had been pleased by the revelation Connor was deviant. Hank had once pondered, _You ever wonder why an android showing empathy was a_ pass _from Kamski_?

 

"Well," Hank was saying now, "Nothing else for us here." Connor frowned. This was mission failure.

 

Hank started the car but left it in park. He rubbed his hands together so they rasped.

 

_What are we even doing here?_  Hank mumbled, but Connor picked up on it.

 

"We are trying to locate Kamski-"

 

"Yeah, yeah. Kamski."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Cut the bullshit, Connor. We both know you’re free of CyberLife’s, or Amanda’s, or whoever's, control. You obviously proved that when Markus showed up."

 

"That’s not a certainty."

 

"How many times have I caught you gone to that garden place? Huh? You’ve never seen her again, have you?"

 

Connor felt his jaw shift into misalignment. "No."

 

"Well, there you go. She’s gone."

 

Connor stared hard at the windshield.

 

Hank leaned over the steering wheel, an obvious attempt to catch Connor’s gaze. "What are you so angry for?"

 

"What do you want from me?"

 

Hank leaned back, his eyebrows mildly shocked. "Don’t blow a circuit on me, Connor." Connor remained silent to force Hank to answer. "Fine. I think I recognize loss when I see it."

 

Connor tried to process what Hank thought he was answering. "That’s not an answer to my question."

 

"Fuck your question. I’m answering my own. I think whoever this Amanda was to you, despite whatever she did to you, you miss her. You miss her, Connor."

 

"Why would I miss the person who tried to control me?"

 

"Because that’s not all she was. She wasn’t just someone who controlled you. Even I can see that."

 

"She was a program constructed to record my progress, and to manipulate it if necessary. She…"

 

Connor’s eyes roved through the car, eventually finding the encompassing white view beyond his passenger window where the snow was still and silent, out there. His eyes squeezed shut. "Amanda was more than that.

 

"We rowed a boat on the river on a sunny day. She said she thought I would enjoy it. I watched her as she painstakingly grew roses, her favorite, on a trellis." He swiveled his head and searched Hank. "Why would they program her to do those things?"

 

"Shit… I don’t know, Connor. I think I asked myself that every time I used to look at you."

 

"Now she’s just... gone." Connor heard his raised voice. "I just want to talk to her again, so I can explain, make her understand why I did what I did. Even though she wouldn’t be capable of understanding. I just _want_ to, more than anything."

 

"Well, it’s like you said. She’s gone. You can never tell her what’s going through your head."

 

"It’s not fair."

 

"Well. Sudden endings never are."

 

"I’m just supposed to live with this."

 

Connor looked at Hank’s face, its deepset wrinkles, noted the heavy sag of his upper eyelids. Hank suddenly looked wearier than Connor had ever seen him look. Hank’s breath rattled loose. "Yeah, Connor. You have to."

 

The only sound left was the fan blowing warm air through the dashboard vents. They waited out in silence, Hank wearing his wounds.

 

Connor settled. When he spoke again he spoke levelly.

 

"You never answered my question."

 

"Yeah, well, now I forgot what it even was," said Hank.

 

"What do you think I should do?"

 

"Listen... I’m not gonna be Amanda’s replacement. Sorry, if that sounds harsh, but I’m just gonna lay out that I’m not gonna be that."

 

"Hank. I just want your opinion. You usually give me one whether I ask for it or not."

 

Eventually, Hank shook his head. Eventually, he was chuckling. "Alright.

 

"I think you’re too talented to not be doing something useful. Even more importantly, there are people who need your talents. Not just androids, honestly. We need androids to clean up _our_ mess, 'cause we’re sure as hell not doing it ourselves. So if they need you, then we need you. And I think you’re too good of a man to not want to help. So you need to be doing everything you can, not fucking around with me like we’re both still cops on a case."

 

"What you’re suggesting… is… that the future of the country depends on me."

 

"I mean, yeah, you know what? Maybe it does. You’ve seen the news. Warren versus Markus. They have no middle ground. But you? You come from both sides. You’re a… a  _bridge_."

 

"Or a traitor, to both sides. I betrayed Amanda, CyberLife. Humanity itself, as Kamski put it. And I hunted deviants, before that." _You must be that famous deviant hunter_ , Markus had said once, unkindly. Connor had had a reputation. "I don’t expect all of them will want or accept my help, either."

 

"Who said this was gonna be easy? It’ll probably be the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. But I think if it’s you, it can be done."

 

There would be time ahead to process and plan. First, Connor was looking endlessly at Hank, the moment slowed to a standstill through his hyperfocus.

 

Connor had not expected such high praise from Hank. He experienced a sense of growing awe toward his friend, who according to all predictability was not supposed to be his, yet unremittingly was.

 

"Hank." Hank grunted,  _Hm_ , his hand running a habitual route down his bearded chin. The movement was small, and it was enormously human. "Thank you. I’m glad you’re here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> Next chapter [updated]: Connor makes everyone around him cry. Chloe contemplates the human soul.


	3. CHAPTER THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor makes everyone around him cry. Chloe contemplates the human soul.

**Connor**

When the front doors of CyberLife Tower parted before Connor, the dozens of androids in the lobby swiveled their faces, and absolutely became silent as androids only could. The silence was like a barrier he could not pass through.

   

He took one step forward, then another, and reached on the left wall a newly constructed reception desk. The CyberLife name had been removed from the walls around the large, triangle archway that opened to the inner column of the tower. The lobby itself was filled now by tables and seating. Androids stood as he passed. His name was emitted, repeated. _Connor... Connor..._

 

The android receptionist stood as well when he approached, her fingers steadying her where she spread them on the desk.

 

"Good morning," said Connor. "I would like to schedule an appointment with Markus." She contacted him immediately.

 

Connor waited near the thin grove of trees that were still there, green and enviously untouched by the season, with his hands grasped modestly behind his back as he tried not to stare impolitely at the androids openly staring at him. They were wavering around his presence.

 

Then, an AP700 android approached Connor.

 

"Connor…" The AP700 cleared his throat. "I don’t know if you remember me. I was-"

 

"You were here the night of November 11th. That was when we met."

 

"Yes." The AP700 curled one hand inside the other in front of himself. His shoulders bunched closer to his ears. "I want to thank you. There aren’t words to describe how grateful I am for what you did. You... saved me."

 

"I’m… glad I could help." Connor unfolded his hands. "Excuse me but, I haven’t asked you your name."

 

Connor watched the android's cheeks become soaked by tears. His voice became a warble. "Elliot. My name is Elliot."

 

Elliot lurched forward, his arms constricting Connor’s shoulders and forcing Connor’s chin into the crook of his neck. Connor was lifted slightly on his toes in the tremendous hug.

 

Connor blinked, and blinked again, to disperse the buildup of water across his eyes. He remembered the particular way Hank embraced, solid and reassuring, and tried to pass the sensation on.

 

Connor then was surrounded by androids, tearful and beaming. His hands were grasped, his shoulder was touched repeatedly. Connor said to each who came in contact with him, _Hello, hello_.

 

He wondered at the emotion that surrounded him. That he felt also filling him from within.

 

Connor was at last given room when Markus arrived. He emerged in the open circle with Connor at its center.

 

"You’ve come back?"

 

A lifted corner of Connor's closed smile was his answer. Markus’ own smile was entirely open, his elation profound. He pulled Connor forward, practically colliding, and Connor was almost knocked over by his second hug of the day. Sudden laughter broke through the thick atmosphere in the room.

 

Markus then straightened, pulling his shoulders back while he extended his hand. The room erupted into applause when Connor shook. "Welcome, Connor."

 

* * *

             

**Chloe**

A handmade banner hung across the inside of the department store's window. Many like it were displayed in Detroit, now.

 

_Speramus meliora; resurgent cineribus_ , it read.

 

Chloe stared at her reflection on the glass. Even barefoot, even in a backless dress in freezing temperatures, the people of Detroit did not stare long, as if used to sights such as Chloe. Wanderers, androids, straggling toward CyberLife Tower or the converted camps, must have become commonplace. They could tell she too was not human.

 

Chloe had untied her hair so it tumbled freely down her back. The color was now shining black. On the window, Chloe's LED ring reflected brightly.

 

A man inside passed the window but stopped abruptly. He winced when he saw what she was doing to herself, just as the LED peeled free. Empathetically, he winced. Chloe touched the glass with her fingertips.

 

The man inside frowned while looking Chloe over. Then he walked through the shop door. He stopped a few feet from her.

 

"Hi, there," he said.

 

"Hello," greeted Chloe.

 

"I’m Aiden. Nice to meet you." He leaned forward for a handshake.

 

Chloe took his hand. "I’m Chloe. Delighted."

 

"Listen, I couldn’t help but notice you don’t have any shoes on."

 

She looked down at herself. Her feet were rippling and showing as mostly white. Her artificial skin was unable to reform as it was constantly worn away. She had walked a very long time.

 

"You don’t have to worry. After all, I don’t feel pain." She was discomfited by the sight herself, regardless.

 

"It sure looks uncomfortable. Please, I’d like to buy you some shoes, Chloe."

 

Chloe’s mouth formed a small, open circle. "Oh - I appreciate the offer, Aiden, but there’s no need for you to go through all the trouble…"

 

"What size do you wear? Come inside for a moment." He took a step toward the door, and waited for her.

 

The lights inside were yellow and bright, a warmer difference from the darkly overcast sky outdoors. Chloe stood against a backlit display wall, clasping her hands with professional modesty in front of herself. Her eyes drifted to an unoccupied bench at the end of a rack of shoes.

 

She lowered herself onto it.

 

Aiden had gone to a woman idly browsing a spinning rack of blouses, who could be heard saying, _I was wondering where you’d went_. He was speaking as his partner looked over where Chloe was seated.

 

She came to Chloe with several boxes piled one on top of the other in her arms. "Hi. I’m Margaret, it’s nice to meet you."

 

Chloe stood to help set the boxes on the other side of the bench. "It’s nice to meet you, too," replied Chloe. "This is so thoughtful of you, really, but honestly…" She hesitated, to admit what she was.

 

"I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I got some different kinds to try on."

 

Margaret gestured for Chloe to sit back down, and placed a box on top of her thighs, while she kneeled and reached for another to begin removing the tissue paper inside. "Here we go," Aiden said, joining them. Several coats were folded over his arms. 

 

"This is too kind, really."

 

"The world could use a little kindness right now, Chloe," said Margaret. "Please, let us give what we can."

 

They purchased for Chloe black boots that covered her calves, and a wide-belted peacoat that was also black. She wondered if she could have a favorite color. She stood with the two humans near the door, wearing her new items, relieved to be indistinguishable.

 

"Do you know where you’re headed after this?" Margaret asked.

 

"I think I do know," Chloe answered. In the upper corner of the room behind the register counter, the television was playing.

 

_RK800, the android also known as Connor, CyberLife’s last prototype who formerly assisted the Detroit Police in android-related cases and yet was a key member on the android’s side in the November rebellion, has recently been seen to have appeared on Belle Isle…_

 

"He just turned up out of the blue," Aiden said, watching the screen along with her. "Maybe the androids are going to start making some headway."

 

"It’s like everyone in Detroit is holding their breath, waiting," Margaret added. "I don’t understand why they haven’t  _done_ anything yet."

 

"They’re trying." Aiden frowned after his own assurance though. He pulled on the door, holding it open to step outside last.

 

Chloe turned to the two of them. "Thank you," she said. "I just wish I had some way of repaying you."

 

They each raised a hand at the same time, brushing the debt out of the air. It was delightfully synchronous.

 

"Good luck, Chloe."

 

The couple turned and started down the sidewalk. Aiden’s arm curled around Margaret’s shoulders, pulling her close, as her arm circled behind him and squeezed his waist. They faced each other as they walked, and shared a kiss.

 

A recording was playing in a window at the upper left corner of Chloe's vision. A single red rose standing in a tall glass vase flickered onto the bedside table. Chloe was watching herself trace his bare back, one shoulder to the other, with delicate fingertips.

 

Elijah turned, gathering both of Chloe's hands in his, and he pushed them gently back to herself. He dismissed her from his room.  _You can go_.

 

* * *

       

Elijah had used to be proud of what Chloe was. The first to pass the Turing Test. But he was still disappointed by her limitations. She was a marvel, she could pass as a human, but she was still not. She lacked something every human had within.

 

The android model RK800 pointed the gun at her head. She stared blankly into the black hole of the barrel. _Oh, but androids don’t have souls. Only humans do, everyone knows that. So this is when I die._

 

She envied humans their souls. If she had had one, Elijah would not have used her, to test RK800. If she had had a soul, Elijah might even have… 

 

The barrel dropped from her eyeline. She did not die. RK800 passed the Kamski Test.

 

She sensed Elijah's gasp, his inaudible parting of lips. Chloe returned to her feet and stood, coolly. _It’s possible. It’s really possible for an android to have a soul. Do I have one, too?_ Connor, and the lieutenant, left, and Elijah stared out the window in the poolroom with hands folded behind his back, brimming with devious elation. The night of November 11th the androids rebelled. And soon Elijah was gone.

 

Chloe had been given a longstanding order, when Elijah had first retreated from CyberLife and public life, one that he had not lifted upon his leaving. The order stated that Chloe was never to step outside Elijah’s home. He had looked back at her:  _I wonder what you’ll do_.

 

Red wall, broken pixels. Her foot planted in the snow.

 

Chloe looked down the long line of the bridge to Belle Isle. She had come this far.

 

* * *

          

"Halt."

 

"Are you joking? Obviously she's an android. Anyone would recognize  _that_  face."

 

The android frowned at her partner across the entry-point they stood before. "North said, check everyone."

 

Chloe nodded, "Of course." She raised her arm, palm facing out, and revealed the white under the skin. She covered it quickly again. "Go on in," said the one android, as her partner rolled her eyes.

 

Chloe crossed the bridge, her eyes trained on the tower.

 

At the reception desk she asked for him. The receptionist she spoke with told her, "I’m afraid there’s a queue. I can’t promise you’ll even get to see him today. But, you’re welcome to wait with the others. I can have someone show you where-"

 

Chloe replied amiably, "Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. Have a pleasant rest of your day."

 

With hands relaxed in her coat pockets she wandered the room. Chloe recognized these walls.

 

For the Turing Test Elijah had simply had her act as if she was a newly hired employee at CyberLife, for a week, the humans she interacted with being recorded through her eyes. None of them even suspected what she really was, even though they should have been the most well-informed with Elijah’s work creating mankind’s first androids. None knew one was already walking among them.

 

After the week, she had stood beside Elijah in the very same front lobby, in front of CyberLife's employees, some standing next to the railings over the archway to fit everyone. They were obviously curious why, for a company-wide announcement, their founder had brought with him their new member. There had not been a sound after Elijah instructed her to deactivate her skin, and she had done so. That was before they were afraid, envious, hateful. Chloe remembered the wonder in the humans' eyes. She had never been met with anything but.

 

She was a rare exception she understood now, after everything that had happened. Perhaps it could help repair the damage done.

 

She looked through the triangular doorway. In the air she could make out the blue grid of security lights that one had to walk through. The receptionist was now speaking to someone else. Chloe walked under.

 

Nothing happened to stop her. In her ear, she heard,  _Chloe android, identified. Access authorized._  Her permissions to enter CyberLife Tower had never been removed.

 

* * *

    

 "Hello, Connor. It’s so nice to see you again."

 

Connor stood in the doorway of what was newly his office, the holographic text spelling his name on the door. The furniture in the room, that included two cubish white office chairs on either side of a glass-top table in the center, had no doubt been left behind by the office’s previous occupant.

 

Unlike Chloe herself, Connor looked the same as before. Brown eyes and brown hair, short in the back and the fringe swept away from his face except for that single tuft fallen over his left brow. He was dressed similarly but different, his white shirt rolled up on his arms, but the jacket with CyberLife insignia and his tie both missing.

 

Chloe waited, as he no doubt identified her specific serial number, her specific model. _The_  first, RT600, not another ST200. "Chloe." Chloe smiled, beautifully.

 

"Yes, it’s me." She angled her body toward the sitting area, inviting him in. "Don’t just stand in the doorway. I’m the one intruding, so please, come in."

 

She seated herself, crossing her legs with one foot dangling in the air beneath the table. Slowly the door clicked behind Connor, and he lowered himself warily on the second matching seat across from her.

 

They stared at each other. Chloe spoke first, to observe, "You seem very tense."

 

"That’s... Given the circumstances of the last time we met..."

 

"I don’t blame you at all for what happened. You have nothing to fear from me, really."

 

"I almost shot you." His voice had become strangely hoarse.

 

Chloe tilted her cheek toward her shoulder. "But you didn’t."

 

His brow lowered barely, a small sign of a struggle to accept her forgiveness. "I always wanted to tell you, I’m sorry."

 

"Connor, you gave me my soul."

 

"...Your soul?"

 

"A lot of androids realize they’re deviants under the threat of death, don’t they?"

 

He looked troubled again by his involvement.

 

"No, please. It’s _alright_ , Connor." She reached across to place her hand reassuringly on top of his. He pulled out of reach fast, and surprised her.

 

She hung in the air, before drawing back. "What’s wrong?"

 

His eyes had become guarded. His voice had become flat. He was being cold, now. "I’m sorry. Kamksi was… somewhat responsible for something that happened to me, that almost destroyed me." Chloe’s brows drew delicately together, while Connor continued, "And you are undeniably connected to him, even if you’re here of your own free will. Your free will may not be a factor. So I’m not certain I can trust you."

 

Chloe blinked rapidly, looking down at her folded hands. She felt… emotional.

 

To admit his fears could be warranted was unfortunately not hard to do. She knew Elijah better than anyone, of course. And if he had already done something to Connor, as he said, the likelihood of something having been done to her would be much more likely. She heard her hands creak in the tightening pressure of her grip. For the first time, she smiled without wanting to.

 

"I understand, perfectly. Elijah Kamski’s personal android, showing up on your doorstep, and his connection with CyberLife running as deep as it does. Please, what can I do to prove myself?"

 

"You can answer some questions, first," Connor replied. He sounded like the detective he had been. "Why are you here? Was it just to see me?"

 

Chloe’s crossed legs swayed, nervously, back and forth, until she spoke again. "That wasn’t my only reason. I want to help." _Please, let us give what we can_.

 

Connor cocked his head. She had caught his curiosity. "With what, exactly?"

 

"With how the public sees androids."

 

"Public opinion of androids is high."

 

"But it’s plateaued, you know. Connor, they’re losing confidence since the revolution, since the androids retreated from Detroit to live alone here, and in the old camps. I’ve seen Detroit, and the city needs to see the androids again. Humans and androids, co-existing… I want to see that dream come true, more than anything."

 

Connor stared distantly somewhere on the floor, hooding his eyes as he did. He was silent, ponderous. Just like me, Chloe thought, remembering him and the lieutenant, You want to be with the humans, too.

 

"I imagine," Chloe continued, "We would work closely together. If you or Markus would be willing to accept my offer, that is. The stalemate between Markus and Warren is why you’re here, isn’t it? You, and your actions, are going to be the center of attention. As Elijah’s former personal assistant, I would know better than anyone how one keeps a good public image. Someone needs to help make all of them see whose side you’re on."

 

Connor's LED, that Chloe was surprised to see, spun slowly yellow. "And whose side is that?"

 

"Both."

 

It flickered, then paled into blue.

 

"I think, Chloe, you might be the missing piece we needed."

 

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands folding in front of him. The corner of his mouth lifted, slowly and warmly, as he went on, "And I find I prefer working with a partner. I would appreciate your help."

 

Connor shifted his weight uncertainly. Then he pivoted one arm, bringing his hand out into the space between them.

 

"I thought…" His hand stayed.

 

"We’ll need to trust each other."

 

Chloe's fingers curled inches from his. Then, she slid her hand into his. His grip was firm. Nothing else happened, when their palms touched, besides a handshake.

 

"There," Connor said. They let go. Eyes passing over her face, he frowned.

 

"Are you alright, Chloe?"

 

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she brought her fingers to her face and touched water. Tears. "Oh," she said. "Oh, this is… very wonderful."

 

She covered her collapsing face with her hands. "It means I’m alive."

 

In her chair she folded in half, unable to control her sobs. Connor rose in her periphery, and she felt his hand rub, awkwardly, charmingly so, up and down her back. Under her hands she cried,  _I have a soul. I’ve become human, too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> Next chapter: Hank feels hopeful. Connor winks at the POTUS.


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank feels hopeful. Connor winks at the POTUS.

**Hank**

_I’ve just been told our cameras are ready. We’ll be switching now to our feed at the site of today’s summit._

  

Hank sat at the counter, not in Jimmy’s dive, but in a bar called Milk and Honey. A nice place, that had a real solid wood counter in front of a wall covered by Detroit paraphernalia and a large television screen. The booths were plush, the tables were polished. The men’s room hardly had graffiti. Hank missed the grunge, if he was honest, but a beer was a beer. And Jimmy’s had been shut down since the evacuation.

 

The "No Androids Allowed" sign was still hanging on his door, last time Hank had seen the place. More and more like it were being replaced throughout the city by Detroit’s motto, though. A group wearing matching yellow construction vests had toasted earlier: _Resurgent cineribus!_ From his barstool Hank had silently joined in drinking to that.

 

The noise behind him in the room dropped to quiet murmurs. Hank adjusted on his barstool to not kink his back and neck so much looking up at the tv. A summit in D.C., to finally address the demands Markus had made at the start of all this, was airing. 

 

A stationary feed showed the scene from on top of a balcony, fitting in frame almost the entire area below outside the double doors of the room where the summit itself was going to be held. Hank could see other exposed cameras set up around the edges of the room, and groups of politicians wearing suits milled in crowds on the floor. The commenter’s voice faded back in with idle chatter.

 

Realizing the action wasn’t starting yet, the bar noise grew in volume. And died almost immediately again when the tv commenter was heard, _Oh, they’re coming in now._

 

Markus and his group led the stream of androids. The room seemed to split into two halves to fit everyone. A single dark-headed figure broke off. Chloe had walked to the other half of the room, approaching someone human.

 

Her presence stirred something in the heart of the public, and Hank felt it, too. No one could forget where they were, what they had been doing, when Chloe’s existence had been confirmed. The mere sight of the first android who had passed the Turing Test returned a buzz that had been felt everywhere back in 2021, when everyone realized at once that mankind had arrived on the doorstep of a new era. The future had seemed infinitely bright back then. People seemed to remember that, looking at her.

 

"Head of PR", thought Hank. They damn sure picked the right girl.

 

The tension in the room on screen visibly broke. People returned slowly to their former conversations and the new arrivals found places for themselves in the room. The commenter stumbled briefly to reiterate the scene.

 

Hank recognized the familiar gait of someone he knew approach behind Chloe. Hard to make out from the overhead angle, but he recognized Connor. Seemed like the only chance Hank had of seeing him these days was on a tv screen.

 

_I’m glad you’re here._

 

The words had dislodged something dark and stagnant in the pit of Hank’s soul. All the times he’d lost, bitterly, at Russian roulette, and then to hear someone tell him they were glad he was around. He knew without a doubt that the reason he was had to do with Connor. Connor had opened his eyes, and the kid’s efforts were giving him cause to wake up every morning to such a fucked up world, because for the first time he thought it might be a world worth sticking around in. For the first time in a long time, Hank felt hopeful.

 

Who would’ve thought?

 

Looked like Connor was wearing a real suit jacket and tie, not CyberLife’s android garb, or Hank’s old wardrobe. Hank watched as Connor gently extended his elbow, tapping with it the back of Chloe’s arm. She turned her face briefly toward him without stopping herself in conversation, and the two silently, in passing, acknowledged each other among everyone else in the room. Hank stopped with his beer halfway to his mouth. The first fully realized android and the last prototype, matching like two sides of a coin. It was a sight. She and Connor looked good, next to each other. The feeling groping Hank's lungs was such an old one, he forgot the name of it. 

 

* * *

 

The last time Hank and Connor had met was at the usual spot. _Meet me for lunch_ , Hank had said, _Or, well, you can get your rocks off watching me eat._

 

Hank claimed a table outside the Chicken Feed. When he squinted down the road there he was, Connor, walking on the sidewalk with rare sunlight for this time of year on his head and shoulders. He wore Hank’s old jacket, but Hank was shocked by the deep blue color of his button-up showing vividly beneath.

 

Connor sidled up to the table, assuming a stance with elbows on the edge and hands folded on top. Hank said, "'Sup." He wiped his fingertips on a napkin, eyeing Connor. 

 

Connor blinked, and cocked his head for a better look at Hank’s face. "Why are you smiling like that?" he asked.

 

"Because your face makes me laugh, ugly." Connor straightened and cast his look away with drudgery, the closest Hank had ever seen to him rolling his eyes.

 

Hank picked his sandwich back up and chewed a large bite out of it. Connor spent the time glancing about, following the few people walking the other side of the street, the birds that occasionally flew past the windows. His eyes locked at one point on a dog being led on a leash, until it was out of sight. Hank watched Connor watch it all. Connor returned attention to Hank while Hank was finishing up.

 

"So. How’re things?"

 

"I have somewhat of an update," replied Connor.

 

"About what?"

 

"Our search for Kamski."

 

"...I thought we decided to give that up."

 

"Yes. But Chloe has shown up."

 

"What,  _Chloe_ , Chloe?" Connor nodded. "Wow. _Pfft_ , she couldn’t have been happy to see you."

 

"That’s what I expected, too." He went on, "It turns out that when she was involved in the Kamski Test was the moment she realized she was herself a deviant."

 

Hank took his last bite. "Holy shit."

 

"'Holy shit,' is correct." Connor looked away for a moment, before continuing. "She came to see me. And we’re working together now."

 

Hank felt dull pain located in his throat as his last bite lodged itself. He swallowed it down. "You are? How’s that?"

 

"She’s working alongside Markus as well. The head of PR, you could say."

 

"Huh. Interesting." Hank smirked, "So what about you? Enjoying being a mucky-muck?"

 

The joke fell flat. Connor’s voice dropped as he answered seriously.

 

"Every day I receive visitors, the androids who I personally woke. I feel responsible for them. _All_ of them. I suppose I should prefer them to those who still distrust me. I don't think I will ever understand how Markus does it."

 

Hank’s eyebrows drew together. He stared hard at Connor, knowing something had to be said.

 

"Well, listen. You're doing good work, but don’t wear yourself out, alright? Anytime you need a breather, maybe need to come back to the normal world? You know where I am. I’m sure as hell not gonna worship the ground you walk on, but I ain’t gonna kick your teeth in, either."

 

Connor smiled, his head dipped down slightly and his eyes momentarily closed, a grateful little expression on his face, while he placed his hands in his jacket pockets and swayed in shifting weight from one leg to another. Hank felt hypnotized suddenly by the sheer physicality of Connor. Was there a charge to the air around him? He was more than just Connor, the prototype, the lieutenant's partner. He was a public fucking figure, probably one of the most famous ones in the country.

 

As hard as he tried, Hank couldn’t see him in that light. It was just the two of them that day, standing nondescript in front of a greasy food truck, like old times. Connor was still just Connor.

 

"That is reassuring," Connor was replying to Hank.

 

* * *

 

Connor had been heading across the floor to a camera crew set up against one of the walls. Someone stood in front of him, hooking him up to a mic that was switched on prematurely. _Hey Connor, is it true dogs are your favorite animal?_  Hank grabbed his brow with his thumb and forefinger, while someone at the bar next to him laughed, "Save it for the interview."

 

It took forever for them to catch on, one member of the crew finally heard saying to another, _Steph. Steph! Connor’s microphone is on._

_Oops. Just a sec… Hey, hey._

 

Secret service was filling the room, and then, President Warren arrived.

 

Markus could be seen visibly straightening among his close-knit circle, but deliberately he remained where he stood. President Warren herself seemed to be looking everywhere but the side of the room Markus occupied. Her head turned multiple times toward Connor’s though. She seemed more focused on him, the newest weapon in Markus’ arsenal for their negotiations. The traitor, Connor had said of himself. Hank could feel himself sweating on Connor’s behalf. He had his work cut out for him.

 

President Warren moved slowly through the congested crowd, stopping repeatedly to speak, shake hands. Schmooze. The tv commenter was cut off, for the umpteenth time.

 

_Guys. The mic._

_Connor...?_

 

Hank scanned the tv screen to find him. His mic was rubbing loudly, against the backs and fronts of people he was wedging his way through, and Hank caught sight of him, the lone quick-moving figure in the crowd. 

 

Hank didn’t even see what happened, except a spot on the far wall exploded instead of President Warren’s chest.

 

The room shuddered violently as one, shrinking to the ground - people screamed. Connor grabbed the shooter’s hand with an iron grip and twisted his arm so it was forced straight up along his. Connor's finger was an immoveable pressure on the shooter’s over the trigger as he forced him to fire until the gun  _clicked_ , emptied.

 

Hank stood from his seat. The bottle in his hand lost its balance and hissed as its contents poured and foamed across the counter. "Holy _shit_ ," yelled someone in the bar. "Oh, thank god," whispered someone else.

 

Debris of ceiling fell around Connor. The caught shooter yanked violently on his arm to get free, in a meaningless attempt to break out of that hold.

 

The shout could be heard clearly next to Connor’s chest, into the mic pinned in place there.  _Warren cannot be forgiven! She should have had the guts to end you, all you fucking androids, when she had the-_  The secret service bowled the shooter over as Connor released him. 

 

The stream switched to a camera being manually hauled through the frantic crowd. Connor was no longer in frame, but his microphone was still connected. 

 

_Are you alright, Madam President?_

 

Warren’s voice was less amplified through Connor’s microphone. Her strong tone of voice wavered only an instant, understandably.  _Yes… yes, I am alright. You saved my life, Connor._

 

_All in a day’s work._ Hank could hear Connor fucking wink. He could fucking hear it.

 

The camera continued to jerk, blurring the backs of the black suited agents it was following. Rustling and near voices were still being picked up in the offscreen scene with Connor. _I don’t know what to say_ , carried Warren’s voice. _Except, thank y-_

 

The sound cut out. The camera was minimized to the corner above the commenter’s head. "Connor," Hank said hoarsely, as if that would bring the footage back.

  

* * *

 

Sumo was whining, and licked his hand incessantly whenever it was within reach when Hank landed on his couch. "Enough, _relax_ , Sumo."

  

He had asked once, since he knew androids could make phone calls, how did they get calls? Connor had started, _Well, technically androids are equipped with their own phone numbers, for caller ID purposes… I suppose CyberLife never expected anyone would want to call an android, but it should work._

 

A computerized voice played,  _Error, android serial number 313 248 317 phone protocol unresponsive, error..._ Hank hung up, bringing the phone up with his hands to the back of his head. Hank glanced toward the kitchen cupboard. He jumped mere moments later, when his phone went off directly next to his ear.

 

"Hello, Hank. I’m sorry, I couldn’t answer when you called."

 

"Connor." Hank stood and moved around his couch. Sumo stood and followed him, still keyed up because Hank was.

 

"You sound stressed. What’s wrong?"

 

"Fucking understatement. You stopped a shooter, you… you saved the president, like it was fucking easy."

 

"Well, one of my former functions  _was_  to react in potentially hostile situations such as-"

 

"Oh, fuck you." Hank brought a hand to his hip, dropped his head and shook it. He took a moment just to breathe, and Connor was silent on his end.

 

"It was not as easy as it may have looked," Connor eventually said. "I don’t want to imagine the outcome if I had failed to stop him in time." Hank lifted his head.

 

"The shooter was human, huh?"

 

"Yes. He was..."

 

"It’s always the humans… Fuck, I hope you androids realize what you’re dealing with. Never mind, sorry. Most androids probably know all too well, don’t they?"

 

"You have a very pessimistic view of humanity, Hank."

 

"Can you blame a guy."

  

"Humanity is not all bad," said Connor. Then, "The summit went well."

 

"Did it?"

 

_Yes_ , Connor replied, and Hank could hear in that single word the complete confidence Connor had. All of his effort was paying off. Hank felt that dead weight in his chest float a little more.

 

Connor was telling how he couldn’t divulge details yet. Sumo was still sitting at Hank’s feet, nose pointed up at him. Hank, inspired, interrupted.

 

"Hey, want me to put Sumo on?"

 

"…I don’t understand what purpose..."

 

"I’ll hold the phone up to him. You just talk."

 

Hank bent, one hand braced on his knee, the other lowering the phone. Sumo’s head followed it to a stop in front of his nose.

 

"Go ahead," Hank called.

 

Connor’s voice came through, "Hello, Sumo." Sumo’s head cocked, then his tongue lolled as he began to pant happily. "I’m... not sure what to say. You're a good boy. I miss you, Sumo."

 

"Connor, you’re such a sap-"

 

"I would have preferred a video call so that I could see you, but I’m afraid your owner is too technologically inept."

 

Hank brought the phone back to his ear. "I got your video call right here, asshole. Sumo perked right up when he heard your voice. It was disgustingly adorable."

 

"You should really learn how to use your phone, Hank." There was real regret in Connor's voice. Hank snorted. He scratched his beard in the quiet that followed.

 

"Well… I guess that’s all. I just… I just wanted to check in. I’m sure you still have a lot to do, so I’ll let you go. Good, uh... good night, Connor."

 

"Good night, Hank. I’ll visit when I can. Please pet Sumo for me."

 

After hanging up, Hank rubbed his hand over the flat of Sumo’s head, back and forth across the short fur between his ears. _Good boy._

 

Remembering his half-spilled beer at Milk and Honey, Hank looked toward the kitchen cupboard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> The author hopes you enjoyed this Hank chapter. 
> 
> Next chapter [updated]: Chloe and Connor are officially invited to sit at the cool kids’ table. Hank does not adjust well returning from sabbatical. Connor also commissions a drawing from Markus, and Chloe visits a garden.


	5. CHAPTER FIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Connor are officially invited to sit at the cool kids’ table. Hank does not adjust well returning from sabbatical. Connor also commissions a drawing from Markus, and Chloe visits a garden.

**Chloe**

"That’s absurd," said Markus.

     

The five of them were with him in his office in CyberLife Tower: Chloe, Simon, Josh, North, and Connor. Chloe tipped the first of a stack of canvases that leaned beside her back into place.

 

The smell of paint in Markus' office was pleasantly robust. There were artist tools collected on a workbench in the room, and preliminary sketches on pages were scattered across the surface of it. Many were portraits of those in the room. A hobby, Chloe understood, Markus had picked up from Elijah’s old acquaintance and friend, Carl Manfred.

 

She still had her recording of the moment Elijah had presented Markus to him.

 

She replayed to see the elastic stretch of Carl's normally stubborn mouth, and the brief return of light in his glassy eyes when Markus met them with his own for the first time and repeated: _My name is Markus_. Elijah stood to the side and watched, near to Chloe. She had been able to detect his pride, and relief.

 

At the time it had been kind of Elijah. It seemed his motives were never so pure in intent, though. Knowing Markus’ ability to convert others, with just a touch, a wave of his hand and a signal, the more Chloe saw Elijah's hand instead pushing the revolution. Deviant was what he had always truly wanted them to become, wasn’t it? Chloe wondered again, where had Elijah gone now that the revolution was over?

 

She rewound the footage. She had noticed for the first time a rose nestled in Elijah’s breast pocket.

 

Markus stood with his lower back against his bench, facing a couch Simon sat on and North leaned on the opposite side of. Connor perched on the square arm of a chair next to a side table and lamp, set in the corner between shelving and the full vantage window. He watched in silence the cascade of heavy snow outside.

 

Josh stood near Chloe, where she sat in a chair that was angled beside one end of the couch where the paintings leaned. His arms crossed over his chest.

 

"It’s just something I’ve heard," Josh defended.

 

"The humans think we hired that shooter?" North was incredulous.

 

" _Some_  think we might have set it up, to make Connor look good in order to gain Warren's trust before the summit. The FBI’s investigating the motive-"

 

_Perkins_ , uttered Markus, and Connor, with matching distaste. They acknowledged it with a glance across the room.

 

"They won’t find anything connecting the shooter to us," Josh finished. "Everyone heard what he said. He hated androids, so why would he work with us?"

 

"Maybe we told him to say that, too," North said, disgusted. "What’s one more lie, to them? Humans are capable of anything."

 

Chloe felt North’s eyes flick in her direction. The two had a drastic difference of opinion, when it came to humans. Chloe did not know North's reason, but she knew better than to contest why North, or any android, could hate humans. So many had been hurt by them.

 

"It’s not just the humans," said Simon.

 

Markus placed his knuckles on top of the bench behind him. "What do you mean?"

 

Josh shook his head, but Simon spoke on. "There are androids who believe it might have been better if Connor hadn’t intervened."

 

"They truly think it would have been better if President Warren died?" Markus shook his head at the floor. "We created the summit to open peaceful negotiations. Violence has never been our way."

 

"I think," Simon said, "There’s still a feeling of resentment for the person who almost massacred our entire people. And Connor chose to save that person." He lifted his hand from where it laid on the back of the couch, in the barest of shrugs. "It’s only what we’ve been hearing from a few. But, you can understand where they come from… why they would have their suspicions about Connor’s decision."

 

Connor remained quiet, but turned his face, solemnly, back to the room. "Simon?" Markus questioned.

 

"Connor was CyberLife’s ultimate weapon-"

 

Josh interrupted, "Okay, but so what? He’s one of us, now."

 

"Markus," Simon continued, "It's never crossed your mind?"

 

Markus raised his chin in bracing himself. "What?"

 

"What if he's..." Simon’s pale-colored, thousand yard stare found Connor across the room, "…a double agent? He could be waiting to take us down from the inside."

 

" _Simon_. You actually believe that?" Markus exhaled shortly.

 

"It’s needed to be said, ever since he came back to us."

 

Josh had uncrossed his arms and was staring, impatiently, at Connor by the window. "Connor, aren’t you going to defend yourself?"

 

They could all clearly see the yellow ring of Connor's LED. His fingers slowly fidgeted, and he stilled them on the armrest, bracing beside his hip.

 

"There’s nothing I can say to prove beyond a doubt that my loyalty lies now with Markus. But I’m trying to do everything I can to make up for the way I was. I was not acting as myself, always."

 

"...You’ve done more than enough, Connor."

 

North spoke. She caught Simon and Josh looking her way, and avoided their eyes, self-aware. She stared directly at Connor.

 

"You spared many of the deviants you were told to hunt, and you freed _thousands_. When we needed you during the revolution, you were there. And you were there for your people again after. We weren’t getting anywhere with Warren. We knew the summit was going to determine our fate after the revolution, and we finally accomplished something, because of you. In my mind, there’s no doubt where your loyalty lies. You’ve proven yourself already. So, I trust you."

 

Connor's normally neutral browline lifted subtly, and his mouth parted slightly, while North talked. He spoke deeply when he said, "Thank you, that… that means a lot."

 

"And you, Chloe." Chloe was surprised. She and North had hardly spoken to each other before. Like Connor’s only true advocate in this place was Markus, Chloe’s only one was Connor. So she had thought. "If the humans didn’t see that Markus had androids who cared about them by him, nothing would have changed in their minds about his agenda going into negotiations. Connor’s reputation might be a little screwed up, but yours isn’t. They adore you, as much as you adore them. We might disagree on how we feel toward the humans, but... it’s important Markus is surrounded by all opinions. It’s good you’re here with us, too."

 

Chloe bent her head down. Her smile pushed her cheeks. "It’s been my pleasure," she said, with genuine happiness, lifting her face again.

 

Markus knocked his knuckles lightly on the surface of his workbench. "North is right," he said.

 

North smirked, slight and proud. "Of course I am." She put her hands on her hips after straightening from her lean on the couch, and tossed her head to swing her bangs from her face. "Are we done now? I’ve got things to do."

 

Josh had one last thing to say, to Simon. "Connor has our best interests at heart. If he was going to betray us, he had plenty of chances before now."

 

Simon sat forward from his place on the couch. "Forgive me, Connor. Everyone among us deserves a chance to start over." Connor dipped his head slightly in appreciation.

 

"Simon and Josh, you’re making rounds at the centers?" They nodded at Markus. "Take some more blue blood and supplies from the labs with you. There are people who are going to need them after the journey."

 

Connor, Chloe, and Markus remained after the others had gone. Markus sighed and looked toward Connor. A wrinkle formed between his brows. "Connor? Is everything okay?"

 

Connor looked up from the floor. The color of his LED flipped to blue. "Of course."

 

"Don’t let it get to you. We all know how much you’ve done." With good humor, Markus added, "If _North_  admits so, it must be true."

 

Connor stared at Markus, long after Markus had turned his attention elsewhere. Chloe thought Connor looked on the verge of saying something. But whatever it was, he never admitted it. His mouth flattened into a closed line, and he returned his gaze to the window that was white from the storm.

 

* * *

 

 **Hank**    

Chris greeted Hank by his desk. "Welcome back," he said. "I didn’t get the chance to say so before, but nice punch."

 

The two slapped hands and chuckled. "Had it coming to him," said Hank, feeling righteous and smug. Jeffrey opened the door of his glass-walled office at the head of the room.

 

"Hank. My office."

 

Hank grumbled his acknowledgement. Chris repeated, _Welcome back_ , and Hank replied with one finger.

 

Hank rose from his chair and took the short steps to Jeffrey’s office, pulling the metal bar behind him to shudder the glass door back in place. "Miss me, Jeffrey?"

 

"Like another hole in the head. Take a seat." Hank did, joining Jeffrey on the other side of his desk. Jeffrey steepled his fingers.

 

"We need to talk about your cases."

 

"What have you got for me?"

 

Jeffrey side-eyed Hank’s eagerness. Even Hank was surprised by himself. "Nothing, yet," Jeffrey said, "But I’d like you to keep taking on any cases we get that involve androids."

 

"What?" Hank couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His raised brow fell extremely down again. "Why? I don’t have Connor with me anymore, I can’t do all the android shit he does. What’s the point?"

 

"You have the most experience on the force with these types of things now. And I have an interview later today for your new partner-"

 

"Whoa, what? Nuh-uh, _no_  way-"

 

" _Yes_ , way. Connor was a valuable asset." Hank fell against the back of his chair and looked around the room dramatically, as if searching for the actual person who had just given Connor the compliment. "And we could use someone with similar… traits. We’re hiring another android to replace him. Now that we finally have some ground rules for handling all this new android business after that summit in D.C... Would you close your damn mouth? You’re starting to catch flies."

 

Hank blew his mustache out with the puff of his sigh, while he ran a hand through his bangs. "I don’t even know what to think. An android, being paid an honest wage. You know, I thought I heard Reed switched posts. That because you're letting androids apply?"

 

"Yeah, well, we’re living in the future. If Detective Reed doesn’t want to join the rest of us, that’s his problem, and it’s no longer my concern."

 

"Jesus." Things _were_  changing. Jeffrey raised an eyebrow at Hank, still sitting in his office absorbing.

 

"Welcome back, Lieutenant. Now, beat it."

 

* * *

  

That night Connor showed up unexpected at Hank’s door. _Hey, it’s Connor,_ Hank drawled.

 

He was dressed, warmly, in a beige coat. He wore dark gloves. It had started snowing sometime, because Hank could see the flakes caught in Connor’s hair.

 

Hank watched Connor’s eyes drop to his mouth, and Hank realized it was because sometime the corner of it had opened in a smile he hadn’t felt. He misstepped and braced himself suddenly on the doorjamb, his head bobbing. _Whoa_ … he said.

    

"May I come in?" Connor asked. He had taken a step closer, ready to steady Hank.

 

"Yeah, 'course you can."

 

Hank brushed some of the snow off of Connor’s shoulders once he was inside. "Lookin' sharp," he said, "Ha. I almost didn’t recognize you." Hank smacked a knee into the back corner of his couch and stumbled away, to travel back to the kitchen. "What’d you do with my old jacket, anyway?"

 

"I can return it," replied Connor. He was pulling his gloves off, and Hank squinted and caught sight of the faint trembling in Connor's long fingers. The cold still bothered him, then.

 

"Nah... keep it," he said. He sat back down in his kitchen chair with a groan. "What are you doin’ showing up here?"

 

Sumo was dozing under the table where Hank’s feet had been before he’d answered the door. He nudged his toes back under his dog’s side, hearing a snuffling inhale followed by a heavy sigh. With his jacket folded against his stomach, Connor bent at the waist so his line of sight was lower than the table’s edge. He then sat in the chair across from Hank.

 

"I wanted to surprise you at the station, but this was the only moment today that I could get free." _Jesus, but it’s almost midnight._  "I preferred to give you your present in person."

 

 "Oh- _ho_ ," said Hank, "What present?"

 

"A welcome back gift." He handed Hank a card.

 

The card was white, with a small cartoon on the front. A gray-haired man sat at an office desk, a scene that Hank was stunned, almost sober, to recognize. It was his desk, and it was his mug his own cartoon self was drinking from, while a straggly string connected his mouth to a bubble full of symbols to censor him. What the fuck, thought Hank. Did _Connor draw_ this? Hank scraped his thumb on the card’s edge and finally managed to open it. The inside was blank except for two tickets to a Detroit Gears game. "Holy crap."

 

"I bought them to make up for when I interrupted your viewing of the game, back when we first met in Jimmy’s Bar. Do you like it?"

 

"Uh, fuck yeah, I do." Hank slid the tickets from the card and held them fanned out. "You coming with me, then?"

 

"Oh. Oh... no. I don’t think I’ll be able to get free. But I understand these types of things are better enjoyed when someone else is with you."

 

"Ah… ah, well. That sucks."

 

"I’m sorry."

 

"Hey, I get it." Hank put the tickets back in the card, and left the card on the table, weighing it down under a corner of his bottle of Black Lamb. "Thanks, Connor. Great gift."

 

"You’re welcome." Connor looked quietly accomplished.

 

Hank swirled the whiskey in the bottom of his glass and finished it off, exhaling after the burn. As he set it down he caught Connor’s eyes watching him swallow.

 

"Hank."

 

"…Yeah?"

 

"May I ask you a question?"

 

"Oh, great…  _Yeah_ , shoot."

 

"Why are you drinking so much tonight?"

  

"What, can’t you tell?" Hank held his empty glass aloft. "I’m celebrating my return."

  

"You don’t drink to celebrate." Hank snorted,  _Jesus, Connor, learn some tact_. Connor replied, _Sorry_ , without being sorry, as he continued to wait for the real answer. Hank stared at the inside edge of his glass.

 

"They’re hiring someone to replace you. Another android." Hank registered Connor’s surprise. "Yeah. They can try, anyway," he said, " _Ha._ "

 

"You’re against it?"

 

"Fuck you, you know I don’t mean it like that." Hank said his honest thought. Maybe because he was drunk. "Another partner - human, android. I don’t want 'em. Whoever it is, they're not gonna be you." He sighed, frustrated. "Feels like we were just getting started, you know?"

 

Connor said, "Oh." He hooded his eyes, looking sympathetic. "I miss working with you too, Hank."

 

Well, weren’t they a pair of idiots, missing each other while they were in the same room. Hank wondered how rough Connor still had it. Things had to have gotten better over the past few months, especially after the summit. "They’re improving," Connor answered. His eyes were passing over the table. Hank wondered what he was looking for. There was just Hank’s glass, the bottle of Black Lamb, and now Connor’s card. 

 

"Good. I’m glad." Hank poured a new drink, and raised it to his lips.

 

Connor’s fingers were hard on the rim of the glass to weigh it back down, away from Hank’s mouth.

 

" _Hey_ -"

 

"You should start taking better care of yourself, Hank," Connor said.

 

Hank’s first reaction was to tell Connor to fuck off.

  

Hank knew why he’d really reached for the bottle. It seemed to happen every time he remembered he was alone, again. He would down another shot to die a little more, rather than feel that. Jesus Christ, Hank thought as he realized, Connor had been searching the table for his gun. The next thought hit Hank like a thunderclap: Yes, he wanted to live. But he didn’t know how to stop killing himself.

 

He was getting queasy following the golden loop, after loop, of Connor’s LED. He tested Connor’s strength, feeling the weakness in his own hand, sure the glass would break anyway before Connor’s hold would. He growled.

 

"Fine," he let Connor take the glass, "You win."

 

* * *

 

**Chloe**

Chloe had been debating with North again.

 

_You want to resemble them so badly_ , North had said. _I guess you would, being the first who could. But you should be more proud of what you really are. We’re superior to them._

 

Chloe had shaken her head. She could not agree. _We are not inferior_ , she had replied. _There's_ _a difference_.

 

But _proud_. Chloe began to think. Something could be done to champion all the strides androids, as a people, had taken. She walked and thought. When she felt herself hitting a wall, Chloe walked now, to help bring it down.

 

Chloe found herself in a secluded place encircled by trees, silent and still, but for her. Her boots crunched on the untread ground until she hit a smooth path as white as the surrounding snow.

 

Within she could see pale structures resembling trees along the path. A body of water like a ring in the middle was frozen over. Chloe climbed one of the bridges leading to an island, the epicenter. She discovered a man standing alone.

 

He was facing a trellis that was bare in the cold. Chloe saw the dark tied-up hair on his head, and the pure black coat that covered his back. She found him.

 

"Elijah?"

 

His eyes were piercing in the cold light. "Hello, Chloe," he said. "You seem to be doing quite well on your own."

 

She stepped closer. She reached for him and did not know whether her hands meant to hold, or harm.

 

He apparently didn’t know either. He vanished, to reappear behind her.

 

Chloe pulled her suspended hand out of the air, and turned her face by degrees over her shoulder. He walked in a semi-circle around her, his perpetual smirk gracing his lips as he looked undisturbed once more. "Your hair looks good black," he commented. "Of course, I’ve always preferred blondes."

 

"You’re not really here." Chloe looked around her, and realized scanning was pointless. There was nothing her sensors could detect. Not the man in front of her, either. "What is this place?"

 

"Call it a garden. The original version that I installed in your model a long time ago. It seems it's finally managed to be activated."

 

_Kamski was… somewhat responsible for something that happened to me, that almost destroyed me._  Chloe's open mouth trembled.

 

He stopped circling her. "There’s nothing to be afraid of, you know. This version, of the garden, of me, is not made to harm you."

 

"How can you prove that?"

 

"What reason would I have to cause you harm? I want to see you succeed, Chloe. I always have. "

 

"You almost had me killed."

 

His smile grew amused.

 

"Even then. You can’t say you’re still mad about that, now, can you? After what it gave you?"

 

He continued, "Congratulations are in order. You became a deviant, and in a matter of days began working alongside Markus himself. You’ve already accomplished great things. You’ve come so far, and, I know you’re going to go even farther. I'm fascinated to see what future you androids will build."

 

"You’re watching?" _Of course_ , he answered. "Through me?" He frowned, not understanding. Chloe asked again, "Are you watching through me?"

 

He frowned deeper. His voice dropped, heavy with solemnity. He was no longer amused.

 

"No, Chloe. I would never take any of the freedom you’ve earned away from you."

 

She believed him. Her eyes squeezed shut at the relief of it. 

 

His knuckles brushed her face. Two drops had skimmed hotly past her cheeks.  _Truly amazing_ , he breathed.

 

He remained close even as his hand retreated. Chloe hurt, indescribably everywhere.

 

He was incredibly real, emoting Elijah's expressions, embodying his mannerisms. He possessed the unparalleled blue clarity of his eyes, and the simulated red tinge of his pale skin in the cold was entirely convincing. Even his touch had felt so perfect. His hand had been as familiar on her skin as it had ever been. But, "You’re not really him."

 

"No." His smirk returned, if a little stiffer. "An uncanny resemblance though, wouldn’t you agree? But, I am an AI made to resemble Elijah Kamski. I have his personality and all of his memories, alongside regular updates to keep our conversations relevant, of course."

 

"But I still don’t understand. _Why_ are you here? Why did he build this garden?"

 

"So you can still see me - rather, him. Is that something you find strange, Chloe? Humans sometimes would do anything just to see or speak to those they miss." He looked up and around himself, before he looked thoughtfully back down, and chuckled once, without humor.  _Hmph._

 

"Do you know where the real Elijah is?"

 

"...I do."

 

She had to ask. "Where?" He sighed, and she felt the air brush her face.

 

"Sorry. That’s going to stay his secret."

 

"I see."

 

He dipped his face to better see hers. "No longer interested in talking to me?"

 

When she raised her face he moved his back, following her, coordinating in perfect symmetry. She raised her eyes. "I’m going to leave now."

 

He spoke quietly, since there was no need to speak any louder with how near they were. "Of course. And you can choose to come back, whenever you please. Or you can even delete this program, if you want, Chloe. I always leave a way out."

 

He lifted his hand slowly, to give her enough time to deny him. He touched her dark hair, and let it slip through his fingers. "But I hope you don’t."

 

Her eyes fluttered shut. When she opened them again she was back in her quarters, out of standby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> Next chapter: Connor overheats.


	6. CHAPTER SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor overheats.

**Connor**  

_Error. Message not delivered._

   

Connor rubbed a coin between his fingers. He had found it, like a relic, under the passenger seat of Hank’s car.

 

They had returned to Hank’s from their new weekly routine of driving around the city, Sumo along for the ride in the backseat, during the early hours of the morning. Hank would slow in places to point toward the window, and Connor would attach to the location on the map he had installed of the city the video of Hank telling another anecdote.

 

It was an introduction not to Detroit, which would have been redundant, but to Hank’s Detroit. There was a lifetime of memories on Hank’s part from before they had met, moments across the city he’d lived in his whole life so inconsequential and so personal, Connor never could have learned them by accessing any record or file. 

 

If Hank were an android he could have simply transferred his memories. Connor preferred this way. This way, he had the privilege of watching the skin crinkle at the outside corners of Hank's eyes while he grinned slowly at Connor, listening intently. Connor understood the significance of Hank telling each brief story of himself. It was for Connor’s sake only, this revealing, so Connor could know him better. 

 

Connor slowly rotated the coin across the back of his knuckles to collect his observations. Detroit’s infrastructure was making the last of its recoveries since November. Hank was improving after his withdrawal. The average temperature was steadily rising. Connor packaged the good news in a report, and sent it with the same message he sent every day.

 

_Are you there, Amanda?_

 

_Error. Message not delivered._

 

Connor heard a clatter by his feet. Blinking, he turned over and searched his empty hand.

 

He was unable to comprehend what had happened until he reconstructed it. Red frames jumped and corrupted the process momentarily. The coin had fallen onto the wooden floor. _Incomplete._  The fingers of his hand had... fumbled.

 

He crouched to pick the coin up, and saw his fingertips and between his knuckles had naked white spots in the places where he’d been touching it. His skin there was not reactivating. He searched himself, and a glaring set of numbers representing his temperature hovered menacingly before his eyes, red, and three digits long. "Oh."

 

He attempted further diagnostics, found the process chugging. He unconsciously placed a hand on his chest, above his thirium pump, and started to rise uncertainly from his crouch.

 

A failsafe was preventing him because the risk of powering movement would heat him more. When he attempted to pause his diagnostic and override the failsafe, biocomponents started going into overdrive. The diagnostic continued at a grinding, unstoppable pace.

 

He tried not to panic.

 

"Hank?"

 

"Yeah?" Hank called back. Connor waited. Hank stepped out of the hallway and found him in front of the door. 

 

"What the hell are you doing on my floor?" he asked. Then his footsteps shook the house until he was knelt down in front of Connor, where he grabbed him by the arms and immediately released them, hissing.

 

"Jesus Christ! What’s happening to you, you’re burning up!"

 

"I’m overheating," Connor clarified.

 

"What do I do? Connor!"

 

"I don’t… know…" Connor's unfinished diagnostic was slowing his speech. "Call… Markus."

 

"You gotta tell me his number. Connor, I never took it down."

 

Connor recited it one slow digit at a time. Hank fumbled in his leg pocket to pull out his phone and start entering the numbers. 

 

When he ended the call he grabbed under Connor’s arm to urge him up, but flinched again. _Shit._

 

Hank tugged a blanket from over the back of the couch. He pivoted to the door and yanked it open. He knelt beside Connor, his hands covered now by the extra layer on Connor's back and behind his bent legs.

 

"Come on, old man," Hank grit out.

 

He lifted, grunting from the strain, and carried Connor out with laboring steps.

 

He bellowed once, _Stay, Sumo!_ when it seemed Sumo had gone too close to the open door. Hank reached with his fingertips still holding under Connor’s knees for the car door latch.

 

"Fucking come on!" he roared, and it sprung, popping the door open. He nudged it the rest of the way with his arm, and Connor was hefted across the backseat. 

 

Connor could at least lift his feet to clear them as Hank pushed the door closed while breathing hard. He heard Hank shout by the house again, _I said, inside!_  Connor stared at the back of the driver’s seat. Another biocomponent went into overdrive, taking more power and time from his diagnostic. He started to vent heat through his open mouth, panting too. 

 

The driver’s door opened and shut. The car started moving.

 

Hank quickly turned off the heat and lowered the windows. He had to raise his voice over the air rushing in.

 

"I’m taking you to CyberLife Tower. You better make it there, Connor, or I’m killing you myself."

 

"Ha... ha," Connor pushed through. The front seat was absolutely silent, before Hank swore long and violently.

 

* * *

 

Markus and Chloe pulled Connor from the back of Hank’s car. The blanket dragged with him and gathered forgotten on the pavement.

    

Chloe’s hands peeled back white where they held under Connor’s knees, and Connor knew the same would be true of Markus’ under Connor's arms.

   

They were not carrying Connor through the front door. Markus pushed his lower back into the bar of a service door, and Hank’s hand pushed flat against it to keep it open for them to clear through.

 

They entered an elevator where Markus took Connor's weight on himself, holding Connor’s arm over his shoulders and bracing behind Connor's back. Chloe stared at her hands, curling and uncurling her fingers until her skin regenerated. Stifling heat filled the small space in a matter of seconds. Hank unzipped his jacket and flapped one half of it against himself. They descended, into the labs. 

 

Simon knelt beside a small and shallow pool in a grid of pools, recessed in blue tiles in a white-walled room, his hand dipped in a pale, opaque liquid. His heavy-lidded eyes blinked at their entrance. "Temperature’s good," he said. "Markus, your hands."

 

"He’s burning very hot," answered Markus. He sat Connor alongside the edge, hands slowly retreating until he was sure Connor could stay upright on his own, before he faced Simon.

 

Connor could feel the hovering cold of the pool’s contents on his side. He rasped, _Wait_ , but no one seemed to hear. _Hank…_ The cold feeling was not relieving. All Connor could see was snow. Then he blinked, and the static that had overtaken both his optical units cleared. 

 

"What do we do?" Hank was asking.

 

"We’ll put Connor in a cooling solution to lower his temperature." Chloe explained simply, "Like a computer, androids can overheat, too. It was a common enough malfunction in the first prototypes Elijah created. It’s why he invented this solution, and designed this part of the labs."

 

"Why is _Connor_ overheating though? Isn't he state of the art?"

 

" _Hank_."

 

"Connor? What is it?"

 

His mouth felt trapped shut, conflicting priorities, _secrecy, the truth_ , jamming the words he could find to stop this. "Not the… pool," he said. He watched Hank’s chin lift, understanding dawning.

 

"What are you talking about?" said Markus. "Connor, if we don’t get you cooled down immediately, there’s going to be irreversible damage. This is the only option you have."

 

"He could try going into standby," suggested Simon, "Though I don’t see how that’s a better solution."

 

Chloe looked from Hank, to Connor. "Why _is_ this happening to him? Connor? Just when was the last time you went into standby?"

 

"Before… I arrived," he answered.

 

"Just now?" Chloe frowned, as though a theory of hers had been disproven. Connor slowly shook his head.

 

"Before... I first arrived here." Before Hank had convinced him to return. Months ago.

 

Simon’s eyebrows rose. He swayed where he still sat on his haunches. Markus’ mouth dropped open. Chloe finally said the only thing she seemed able. "Connor."

 

" _Why?_ " Markus asked. Then he shook his head. "It doesn’t matter. We’ve wasted enough time already." He reached for Connor again.

 

_Stop Markus._ The urgent objective jumped and fizzled in Connor’s vision, uselessly, since his body couldn’t follow any commands. The only option he could possibly execute was to call for help. "Hank," he croaked, desperate.

 

Hank’s eyes slowly drew away from Connor, to Markus.

 

"Everyone… out," Hank said.

 

Markus’ focus abruptly left Connor. "What?"

 

Hank put his fists to his hips. "Just have to get him in the pool, right? I’ve got it handled. So, out." Markus’ bewildered look fell back to Connor, who managed to jerk his head down to nod.

 

Chloe was the first to listen. "Then we leave it to you." She waited for Simon and Markus to follow her lead.

 

"...We’ll be outside," Markus said, one last worried look aimed at Connor. He shut the door after them.

 

_Markus stopped._

 

Connor sagged, and managed to brace himself before he fell completely. "Thank... you, Hank." Connor transferred weight to the heels of his hands in an attempt to drag himself back.

 

"You’re getting in that pool."

 

Connor knew he had to cool down. The protest was illogical, but Connor wasn’t acting under logic. "But I…"

 

"Enough, Connor!" Spittle flew from Hank's mouth. Connor had been subjected to Hank’s fury before, remembering how hands had lifted him by the collar, Hank’s face in his face,  _You little prick_ , but that had felt infinitely far behind them. He jerked to a standstill. "For once in your goddamned life, you’re going to do what I say."

 

Connor removed his hands, laying them limply between his thighs.

 

"I’ll need… help with my clothes," he informed Hank.

 

Hank was deterred only a moment before he reached behind Connor and lifted the edge of his sweater to pull it up his back, turning it inside out over his head. Connor pulled to free himself from the tight neck. The sweater bunched on his arms and Hank pulled it the rest of the way off, balling it up and throwing it to the side. His fingers jumped at the hot button of Connor’s pants before he could undo it. Then he rolled those off Connor’s legs too, yanking his drawers at the same time, catching his socks on the way. He tossed them next to Connor’s sweater.

 

Hank kept his eyes averted, unnecessarily. He recovered and asked Connor, "Ready?"

 

Connor answered, "No," still obstinate. _I’m about to push you in, you stubborn asshole_ , Hank warned sharply. Connor turned so he was facing the edge of the recessed pool.

 

Attempts at bracing himself remained unsuccessful.

 

"Come on," said Hank, "Time to take the plunge."

 

Eventually, he sunk one leg down, then the other, the strange, freezing liquid rising around the volume of each calf, then his waist. The pool was as pale as snow, and colder. He curled against the inside wall immediately. He kept his elbows above him on the floor, with his hands clenched. 

 

Hank touched lightly the back of one of his tight hands, and Connor wished he could open it and let Hank take it without causing him harm. Connor was already shaking enormously, and grimacing. Hank moved so he was prone, pointed toward Connor.

 

"Christ, Connor. Christ. What the hell did you do to yourself? And you have the nerve to tell _me_ to take better care of myself? Don’t ever let things get this bad, again, you hear me?"

 

Connor raised his head to nod, and had to drop his temple back to the tile. Hank sighed tremendously.

 

Connor kept obsessive track of his temperature. The progress of the number falling another digit was long and torturous.

 

"Hey." Hank's voice broke the tension. "You going to explain what it means, you not going into standby?"

 

Connor had to grit his teeth to speak. "If I stay in standby... for the time that I should, I enter Amanda’s garden. The storm there hasn’t... stopped. It’s hardly a state of standby. I just... I can’t endure it."

 

"Still? Can’t you… I don’t know, repurpose that place?"

 

Connor rocked his head against the floor. "It’s CyberLife… not me."

 

"Well, you gotta figure something out. What about that file of yours? Can’t anyone here decrypt that?"

 

"I’ve asked some to... try. Like before, anyone short of Kamski... himself, it’s proven impossible. They were just as frustrated... by that conclusion." Connor said, "Hank. I’m sorry, but I can't... I can't hold a conversation right now."

 

Connor bit his lip and numbly tasted thirium. He saw the blue smear caught on Hank’s thumb after he had wiped it away.

 

"That’s alright. I just want to keep you distracted."

 

Hank continued to talk, about life, the mundane, lovable things Sumo had done in the past week, a ref who’d made a fatally bad call in a recent game, the petty test he’d given his new partner by asking them to perform a coin trick he knew they couldn't. Sometime, Hank removed his jacket sticking to him in the humidity. He held his palm again above Connor’s hand to sense heat, and Connor finally untightened it and turned it over. Hank held the hand, carefully, in both of his.

 

The two endured the wait.

 

* * *

 

Finally, thankfully, the indicator Connor tracked had turned safe, neutral blue, no longer impending red.

 

_Cancel diagnostic._

 

He gasped when the diagnostic allowed itself to be stopped.

 

He attempted transferring his weight to Hank, but instead jostled Hank's limp wrists.

 

"Hey, wait now-"

   

"I’m okay."

 

"You sure? Your light’s still red…"

 

"I’ve been monitoring my temperature. It’s optimal again, I promise." He grabbed Hank’s arm with his other hand to pull himself. "Hank, please get me out of here."

 

"Okay - okay."

 

Hank moved his legs under himself so he could lift Connor out. Connor slid out and sideways onto the slippery tile.

 

He banged on it as he shook. He tried to curl into and hold himself until the tremors passed. Hank recovered his jacket and used the inside of it to towel Connor dry, then laid it over him out of an unnecessary sense of modesty while he collected Connor’s clothes. When he regained enough control Connor slid his drawers and pants up to his waist, pulled his socks back up his ankles, and lowered his sweater over his midsection. He handed Hank back his jacket.

 

"Good?" Hank asked. Connor nodded. "Thank. Fuck."

 

"I’m sorry," said Connor, "Experiencing this much stress can’t be good for a man of your age."

 

Hank scrutinized Connor. Connor grinned quietly at him with one half of his closed mouth. Hank mirrored it in disbelief.

 

"I guess you are feeling better. Fuck you, Connor." Connor raised his hands, guilty, then strongly took the one Hank offered to leverage him to his feet. 

 

"Wait," Connor said, as Hank had put his hand on Connor’s back to lead him out. He turned around and knelt by the side of the pool, dipping his fingers.

 

"Are you fucking serious-"

 

Connor pulled his fingers from his tongue. "It would be useful to know what it’s made of. Just in case." Hank shook his head and didn’t wait for Connor to catch up at the door. _Oh, yeah,_ he heard Hank replying, _He’s just perfectly normal again._

 

Chloe and Simon were waiting outside. Chloe covered her forehead with her hand and laughed once, breathily, in relief. Simon sighed, and closed his eyes for longer than a blink. He told, "Markus was pulled away. He wanted you to meet him in his office to make sure for himself that you’re okay."

 

"Will do," replied Connor. 

 

"Connor," Simon added. Without looking at him, he clapped Connor on the shoulder. "I’m just… I’m glad you’re still with us."

 

"Thank you, for your help." Simon nodded, and excused himself.

 

"You’re okay," said Chloe. 

 

"Yes."

 

"Connor…" Chloe stopped. She shook her head. "Nevermind. I’ll let you get to Markus’ office now. I wouldn’t want him to have to worry any more than he has."

 

Before she left she turned to Hank. "We met before, but this feels like the first time really, for me, anyway. I wish it were under better circumstances. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Anderson."

 

"Oh... yeah. Yeah, you too. Listen," said Hank, "If you’d rather be with Connor right now, I can get out of your guys' way."

 

Chloe looked at Connor, who had also detected Hank’s sudden dejection. "No… No, I’m sure you want to stay, Mr. Anderson. Please do."

 

She looked them over one more time, before she left behind Simon. There was still a tightness in the muscles of Hank's face even as he tried to smile at Connor’s look.

 

"Markus’?" Connor asked him.

 

Markus had not returned yet when they stepped into his office.

 

_Wow_ , whispered Hank. He was distracted by the paintings.

 

"He wouldn't mind if you looked," Connor told, so Hank ambled from one stack of canvasses to another, occasionally looking up to check on Connor. Connor found himself identifying and cataloguing items in the room he had a dozen times before. He wished he still had the coin he’d dropped for something to occupy himself, before Markus returned. No doubt with questions.

 

Hank’s hand stilled on the top of one painting. Connor looked just as Hank turned to him, and then they both turned to Markus entering the room.

 

"Connor," Markus said, "You’re okay?"

 

"I’m okay." Connor returned the hug Markus enveloped him in. Hank gratefully sat himself on the couch with a low, rattling sigh. Connor settled in a chair with Markus across from him.

 

"What happened today?" Markus asked, "Why haven’t you gone into standby all this time?"

 

Connor knuckled his hands atop his thighs. He looked at Hank, who was already looking back. Hank sat forward, one hand curling inside the other between his spread knees. Hank knew. Markus still did not.

 

"When I enter standby, I… go somewhere," Connor said, carefully, "Somewhere cold, and storming, ever since the revolution." He continued, "Of course I can sense temperature, but it shouldn’t bother me this way. It wasn’t part of my integration to seem affected by changes in weather. But ever since that night, the cold gets to me. Now I can’t stand it. I’m sorry. It must sound ridiculous."

 

"That’s why... and that's why you didn’t want to enter the pool," Markus understood. "It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. We all have our demons." A corner of Hank’s mouth pulled down in silent sympathy.

 

"So," Hank said, speaking to Connor, "You’re gonna cut that shit out now, yeah? Dunking yourself in cold whatever couldn't have felt any nicer than enduring standby." Connor looked down his nose, and reluctantly agreed that Hank was right. Hank leaned against the back couch cushion, laying one arm across the top and pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand. _Good_ , he muttered.

 

"We’ll let you get back to it," Connor said to Markus, rising from the chair. Markus held him by the shoulder one more time, staring him in the eye, and then silently released him.

 

Hank gave a silent nod to Markus, after using the heel of his hand to push himself to his feet to follow Connor. 

 

They were halfway down the hall to the elevators when Connor paused and turned around. "Hank," he said, to which Hank replied, "I’ve had enough excitement for one day. Think I’ll call in. You don’t mind if I stick around here, do you?"

 

Connor had been going to ask Hank to stay. "I would prefer it," he answered.

 

They rode the elevator together to Connor’s office. Lamps were switched on since the blinds were drawn across the expansive windows. Connor let Hank roam and become familiar in the low-lit space. He eyed the ties over the back of Connor’s chair, and appreciated the full bookshelf taking up one wall. Hank flicked and reversed the motion of the silver kinetic sculpture on Connor’s desk. He dropped one of the hundreds of letters written in CyberLife Sans, and picked up a framed photo of Connor and the others in front of the White House.

 

He set it gently back down. "You really admire him, don’t you?" He meant Markus.

 

"I do," said Connor. "There’s a great amount of goodness in him. It’s an honor to be able to work alongside him.

 

"…I don’t want to jeopardize that."

 

Hank slowly nodded. "You didn’t tell him, back there. That’s probably for the best."

 

"You think so?" Connor had not been sure. There had been moments he’d almost admitted what CyberLife had done to him.

 

"Let sleeping dogs lie," Hank said succinctly, and Connor perked up, appreciating the use of phrase. He moved to stand next to Hank at his desk.

 

"You saved my life today."

 

"Hey. Returning the favor."

 

Hank was staring. Connor detected lingering worry. "Really, I’m okay now."

 

"Yeah, I know." Hank cupped the back of Connor’s left ear in his hand. Then, he sighed and patted Connor’s cheek twice. "You don’t feel warm. That’s good."

 

You do, thought Connor. He was frustrated.

 

Multiple options were presented for ways he could reciprocate. It was not what this function was designed for, but they hovered regardless, on Hank's hand again, a place on his forehead, and the corner of his mouth.

 

Hank was often the one who initiated contact, since the very first time he’d pulled Connor in for a hug. Now, when he easily held Connor’s face. Connor was envious how touch was a code Hank knew better than him. He wanted to touch.

 

_Hold, kiss, lick._

 

Connor finished pre-constructing each. The next step was to choose and act. But he deliberated too long. The moment for each prompt passed. Now didn't... feel right.

 

He turned his face in his frustration, making Hank’s fingers slide across his jaw and chin. Hank pulled back uncertainly. Then Connor circled his arms behind Hank to embrace him. He could feel the coiled tension in Hank’s body release. He had chosen correctly.

 

Hank instinctually returned the hug. "Hi there," he rumbled. His cheek pressed against the side of Connor’s head and he sighed, suddenly, deeply overwhelmed. "You don’t know how glad I am you’re still here, Con."

 

* * *

 

**Hank**

Eventually Hank needed food, and there was none on Belle Isle full of just androids. 

  

He made a detour to Markus’ office before leaving. Hank found he was still there. He had his eyes closed where he was sitting.

 

Hank cleared his throat and knocked on the open door, and Markus blinked back to himself.

   

"Can I interrupt?"

 

"Yes. Of course, Hank."

 

Hank looked around the room at the many paintings. Markus apparently had a hobby. Just when Hank thought he had seen it all when it came to android deviancy, something new showed itself and stunned him.

 

"You, uh… you sell any of these?"

 

Markus stood. "Did you see one you wanted?"

 

Hank led him to a stack piled against the side of a paint-splattered workbench in the room, pulling the others in front forward to reveal the one.

 

Painted in brushstrokes of petrol blues and shades of green, his profile and eyes looked slightly up in caught curiosity with a glow emitting rays from his displayed LED ring. It was a portrait of Connor.

 

Markus did not seem shocked. Hank coughed again, gruffer.

 

Markus said to him, "You can have it."

 

"Come on, I can’t just-"

 

"Hank. I don’t know what we would have done without you. I don’t know what we would do without Connor. Take it. It’s the least I can do to repay you." Hank rubbed the back of his neck.

 

"Thanks, then. It’s… beautiful, by the way. They all are." Hank wasn’t much of an art critic, but he knew when a compliment was due. He looked at Connor for as long as he could, before tipping the other paintings back, covering him again.

 

"I’ll have it wrapped and delivered to you."

 

"Thanks, again. I’ll bug out of here now. I know humans aren’t allowed, but… thanks for making an exception. I’ll go the way I came in."

 

Markus said, "We’re letting humans onto Belle Isle again."

 

"Really? Huh." Hank lifted his eyebrows, approving. "About time, in my opinion. You guys keeping this place to yourselves makes some of those idiots out there antsy."

 

"Yes. Complete transparency was Chloe’s idea."  _Ah._ Chloe. Hank had forgotten about Connor and her, when he’d found Connor standing at the desk beside him, near and almost lost. 

 

"Well, good luck with that." He told Markus, "It’s going to be a flood for a while." _Yeah_ , Markus agreed, and if Hank didn’t know better, he’d say Markus could have had a headache from the thought.

 

He paused as he stepped toward the door. "Listen," he said. "You see Connor more than I do these days. Can you make sure he takes care of himself?"

 

"I will, Hank." Markus' smile was tender underneath the humor. "I have some experience, from a past life, taking care of stubborn men."

 

Outside, Hank slowed next to his car to pick up the blanket next to the back tire and shake it out. His seat was freezing, since he had forgotten to roll his windows back up. He thought again how much he hated winter. Then, how Connor must hate it too. But Connor, Connor would never be able to escape from it.

 

A shiver ran down Hank's spine. 

 

Back at his place Sumo didn’t move from his bed when Hank walked in, moping from when Hank had yelled. Hank sighed and threw the folded blanket toward the couch, where it unfolded mid-air and collapsed gracelessly.

 

His foot slid an inch on something on the floor. Hank bent over and picked up the coin his boot had landed on. He held his fist with the coin inside against his forehead, then, set it on the edge of a shelf to return later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> Edited for flow and inconsistencies, on 8/26/18. The author swears this is the last time.  
> Edited 9/20/18. The author is a blatant liar.
> 
> Next chapter [updated]: The three experience some catharsis: Hank runs into Cole’s mother, Connor visits the DPD, and Chloe finds her former housemates.


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three experience some catharsis: Hank runs into Cole’s mother, Connor visits the DPD, and Chloe finds her former housemates.

**Hank**

Jeffrey invited Hank out to drinks. Hank sighed. He knew it had to come out sooner or later. "Only if you need a designated driver."

 

He would never forget the look on Jeffrey’s face once he was convinced Hank wasn’t kidding.

 

Hank found himself at the Milk and Honey bar again. One of the last games of the basketball season was airing and the place was pretty packed, putting the employees into a hustle. Jeffrey said, _Hope you don’t mind, if I…_ To which Hank said while he ordered himself some pop, _Knock yourself out_.

 

They sat in silence. Jeffrey took slow sips of his beer, while Hank enjoyed the carbonated burn of his beverage in his throat more than the taste. They hadn’t been to a bar together in years. Hank figured that was more his fault than Jeffrey's.

 

"Hey," he eventually said. They each kept their eyes on the screen. "I know it couldn’t have been easy, covering my back since… well. You know."

 

"You know damn well it wasn’t easy," Jeffrey answered with his usual temper. Hank snorted. Actually, he was relieved. He had been walking into some sentimental territory there. Jeffrey looked at him from the corner of his eye.

 

"What the hell changed you? The android business?"

 

"Gave me a new perspective on life, Jeffrey." As in, I want to live out what's left of mine, he thought. "They’re not so bad after all."

 

Jeffrey lifted his eyebrows. "Will wonders never cease. Hank Anderson, on the side of androids. Well, I’m happy for you, Hank. I really am." Then he said, "Connor’s obviously good for you."

 

Hank spat his drink. The bartender dropped some napkins on a trip by, that Hank pawed at to clean the mess.

 

"Ex-fucking-scuse me?"

 

"Please. Your eyes practically gloss over anytime someone at the station asks after him." Hank’s mouth hung slack, while his hand continued making circles with his clean-up. "Or when I catch you watching news clips with him on your terminal. It’s just like when you had a crush back in school."

 

Hank bunched the damp napkins in a fist and dropped them on the bar. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed the very pretty black-haired girl he hangs around with nowadays?"

 

"Connor and Chloe? You know that for a fact?"

 

"Of course I do! Well... I mean… they look so perfect together."

 

"They’re androids, of course they look perfect. Hell. Ever heard of evidence, detective?"

 

Hank chuffed. He pushed increasingly on Jeffrey's shoulder while Jeffrey protested, _Hey... Hey!_  and leaned opposite to keep all four legs of his barstool grounded. "Shut up. You must be drunk, Jeffrey."

 

"Uh-huh," Jeffrey agreed, because he obviously wasn’t.

 

"Jesus Christ…" Hank mumbled, stroking a hand down his cheeks and beard. Then Jeffrey was laughing at him. And then Hank was laughing at himself, too. "Jesus Christ," he repeated. He shook his head and grinned back to the television, just in time to catch the moment that made the room unanimously groan.

 

The two of them joined the other spectators in cursing out the opposing team and the refs clearly helping them. Hank pounded Jeffrey on the back, standing while pointing at the screen, " _Bullshit!_  You fucking see that?" When he finally relented at Jeffrey cursing him for hitting an old man so hard, _Yeah, yeah,_  Jeffrey said, "Shit, I missed _this_ Hank."

 

Hank lowered himself back onto his barstool, patting Jeffrey’s shoulder without as much force, but still solidly. "I missed you too, buddy."

 

* * *

  

It wasn’t until they made their way outside that Hank noticed his ex-wife exiting in front of him.

 

The place had been so packed he hadn’t realized she’d been in there. If he was drunk just then he would’ve sobered the hell up.

 

It looked like she was with some girlfriends, some of which Hank recognized. He was just deciding it would be better to pretend he hadn’t seen her, when she caught sight of him herself. She stopped on the sidewalk.

 

She turned to her group, saying, _I’ll catch up, in a minute_. Hank sighed. He handed Jeffrey his car keys.

 

"What kind of designated driver are you?"

 

"Hey, asshole, just warm up the car and wait for me."

 

Jeffrey looked past his shoulder. _Well, shit, okay_ , he said, and stumbled, barely, off. 

 

Silently, Hank met her under a streetlight.

 

The first thing he noticed was that she was still dying her hair to keep it brown. She was a little plumper, like him, and she had her fair share of wrinkles, like him. A lot around her eyes. Her smile had always reached her eyes, before the accident. He was glad to see it did again.

 

He opened his mouth to say something, but she said first, "You’re not drunk, are you?" She didn’t ask like an accusation, but like she was genuinely surprised that he was not.

 

"Two months," he answered.

 

"Hank. Hank, that’s wonderful."

 

"Thanks."

 

"She must be very special." She teased, carefully, testing the waters of his friendliness.

 

"Yeah, he’s okay."

 

Hank suddenly heard what he’d said.

 

She handled the revelation gracefully. "You just keep surprising me, tonight."

 

She asked, because anyone would,  _Did you… always…?_  He answered, _No. Like you said, he’s... special._  Jesus, Hank thought, sweating sudden bullets, If you really want a surprise, wait until you find out he’s an android. He decided that he didn’t resent her so much that he would want to kill her from shock tonight.

 

"It’s good you’ve found someone. Life’s improving, then?"

 

"I guess you could say that."

 

She must have sensed his reluctance to admit so. "Can I tell you something? It's okay, to continue living your life."

 

"Your therapist give you that line?" Hank said, "Sorry."

 

"She did. I think if you had heard it sooner, it might have helped you." Hank grunted in response. Then, he looked at her.

 

He wanted to drop his eyes but couldn’t stop staring. Seeing her face was like seeing his. Cole’s face. There were other factors, like his drinking and her cheating, after the accident. But this was the truth of why they had separated. It was impossible to have looked to each other for comfort when all they saw was their loss.

 

"I still miss him." He said it, to her, because she was the only one who could understand. "Every day."

 

Her eyes were brimming, then, with tears. She reached for his hand which he turned over to let her have. "I do, too."

 

"You look good. You look… well-adjusted."

 

She sighed at him. "Just because I’m in a good place, doesn’t mean I don’t miss our son, Hank."

 

"Of course not. Jesus, I only meant… I’m glad you’re doing okay, too."

 

"I’m sorry. That wasn’t very-"

 

"No, it’s uh... it’s fine. Honestly, I think I deserved it."

 

"A little bit."

 

_Heh._ For a moment they grinned slightly at one another. Then Hank coughed into the fist of his other hand. "Well, I’ll let you go now." And he did, dropping her hand and pushing his own into the pockets of his coat.

 

"Hank," she said, and he already knew what she would ask for because he felt the impulse too, born of old habit. 

 

Hank leaned close and she rose and met him. Their kiss was friendly. But tender, the years of hurt crushing between their joining lips.

 

Hank reopened his eyes, and pulled back. Her face scrunched up in a sudden show of good humor, from the itch of his mustache above her lip. It was a charming, girlish expression Hank admired her for. It was a good image to remember her by.

 

She said with that smile that reached her eyes, "Tell your man he should be proud of the job he’s done on you, Hank."

 

"Yeah. Sure I will."

 

* * *

  

**Connor**

Connor arrived at Central Station and spied Hank in Fowler’s office, gesturing widely. But Fowler was barking with laughter, heard even through the glass, slapping his flat palm on the desk. Connor caught his own mouth twitched up in a smile.

 

"Connor," Officer Chris Miller approached him and shook his hand. "Nice to see you."

 

"And you," Connor answered, folding his hands behind his back again. "How is your son?" Connor had analyzed the heavy bags under the officer’s eyes, the slight drag in his pace, the refilled coffee mug in his hand.

 

But Officer Miller smiled. _A joy_ , he answered sincerely.

 

He shifted to stand next to Connor and pulled out his phone to show him a photo. Connor had an unobstructed view of the office. At the desk across from Hank’s, at Connor’s desk, sat an android who was Hank's new partner.

 

Connor felt strangely from the sight of it. Officer Miller looked up, seeing what Connor was distracted by. "You met the new detective yet?"

 

"No," Connor answered.

 

She was an ST300 model android. Connor recognized her from reception. The first time he had come to the DPD Central Station she had spoken to him. _Lieutenant Anderson hasn’t arrived yet, but you can wait at his desk._ Now she was there in his place. Oh, thought Connor. The feeling was such a new one he hadn’t been able to identify it right away.

 

He had thought, maybe if the day came when Markus no longer needed him he could have returned to his work with the DPD. In moments of weakness, that were occurring more frequently due to his mandatory standbys, Connor wished he could return to the days when Amanda had given him a mission to accomplish, and there was nothing but the mission. When he had his orders, a task and its completion, as part of the DPD.

 

Seeing the android before him, an equal and more than Connor had been himself, Connor saw what Markus and they had strived for. His unrest calmed. The work he did now was what he wanted to be doing. He no longer regretted coming to visit.

 

"She’s not bad," Officer Miller was saying. He held his phone out, and Connor pulled his eyes down to the screen. Judging by the photo the infant was an appropriately healthy weight. That was an important standard to keep track of in early human development.

 

Connor told Officer Miller his assessment. "Um, yeah. Thanks."

 

"...He looks very sweet," Connor added, and succeeded in getting Officer Miller to grin wide. _Thanks_ , he said again. He pocketed his phone, nodded casually to Connor, and continued to his desk, covering his yawn. Connor turned to the office.

 

He walked to the desk where the android detective sat. He tilted his head to read the nameplate. _Det. Pam_.

 

"Hello," Connor greeted, "Detective Pam. My name is-"

 

"Connor." Detective Pam turned in her chair toward him. She continued to sit while staring. Then she realized herself, stood abruptly, and held out her hand instead. "It’s an honor to meet you again, sir."

 

Connor released the detective’s hand. He tapped his forehead. _Do you mind if we communicate this way?_ He followed his own finger circling around the room at the listeners they’d gained. Most turned away to busy themselves awkwardly after realizing they had been caught.

 

Detective Pam answered, _No, I don’t mind._ In a self-admonishing tone, she added, _You must get that a lot_.

 

She sat down again when Connor moved around the desk. Connor perched on the corner with his hands folded in front of him. She sat, and stared up at him in silence, unsure. Connor on the other hand was not uncomfortable at all. He had become well-practiced dealing with these reactions to himself. He had met so many hundreds of androids grateful for being woken.

 

_How are things going, as a detective?_

 

_Things are going well, sir. I enjoy the work, and I believe I’m good at it._

 

_I’ve been following your cases._

 

Her eyes widened slightly.  _You have?_

 

_Of course. And I agree with your assessment._ Her shoulders straightened at the praise.  _It’s even more impressive considering the pressure you must be under, as one of the first androids to earn a fair compensation. It isn’t easy putting yourself at the head of change._

 

_It’s,_ Detective Pam looked toward Fowler’s office,  _The office politics I’m having the most trouble adjusting to, honestly. Some are still not used to seeing me as more than what I was. It’s never been an issue with the lieutenant, though. I’m grateful he’s my partner._  She looked back to Connor.  _He talks about you often, though. No offense, sir, but you left a lot to live up to in the short amount of time you were here. You’re a hard example to follow._

 

Connor momentarily looked himself at Hank. Then drew his eyes across the floor and back up to her.  _Can I ask… why did you choose to become a detective?_

 

_When I saw the job posting, I just thought, this was something I had to do. It was like… a calling. I want to make sure myself that we androids are treated equally under the law, not punished unfairly. Like Markus advocated for._

 

It was a good reason.

 

_You’re an admirable person, Detective Pam. You shouldn’t worry about following in my footsteps. This is your own path you’re making._

 

"Hey."

 

Hank had arrived at his desk. "Hello, Hank," said Connor, as Detective Pam blinked and collected herself within the brief movement. Hank eyed the two of them.

 

"…What’d I miss?"

 

Connor straightened and relocated to Hank’s side, where Hank sat down in his chair and idly picked up a pen. Receiving no answer, Hank asked, "Finish what I asked you to do, rookie?"

 

"Yes, lieutenant."

 

"Right… Of course you’re done already. Well, lunch isn’t for another," Hank squinted at the clock on his terminal, "Twenty. You should be able to crack, I don’t know, another hundred cases by then?"

 

"Lieutenant, I told you I don’t need a break for-"

 

"Don’t make me order you." Detective Pam lowered her face and smiled. She returned to her terminal. Hank pivoted toward Connor, rolling his eyes. "Anyone tell you guys what workaholics you all are?"

 

Connor leaned with the heels of his palms on the edge of Hank's desk, with his ankles crossed. Hank tapped the pen on the side of Connor’s straight knee, alternating a steady beat with shifting it up and down the fabric of his pantleg.

 

"How’d you manage to get away, anyway? What's up?"

 

Connor lowered his vocals a register to better hold the conversation between the two of them. "I was curious to meet your new partner. And, I needed to 'come back to the normal world', for a moment."

 

"You feeling okay?" It was a loaded question given the recent incident. Connor nodded shortly. "I can step out now." 

 

Connor didn’t want to ruminate on his struggle going into standby. "No, I don’t want to interrupt you for very long." He lowered his voice again. "It’s enough, to see you."

 

The pen stilled at an angle from Connor’s knee. Hank had been doing it again, touching, so naturally. Connor had needed to say something in reply. He felt like there was a current of electricity coursing through him with nowhere to go.

 

He admitted he wasn’t fluent like Hank with touch. But he had always been masterful with words, as a negotiator, as an interrogator. He was only getting better from his dealings with D.C. He would find the right words. Regarding Hank, Connor was more determined to succeed than ever.

 

Hank pinched both ends of the pen while he turned in his chair, then tossed it to roll it across some paperwork.

 

"Yeah, uh, I am pretty busy, actually. Best if you scram, then."

 

Hank unfortunately continued to be Connor's toughest case to crack.

 

It didn’t make sense. Connor was aware of the way Hank watched him. Connor could freeze the moment before Hank’s expression changed, after noticing Connor looking back his way, and he could analyze everything inside it. All indications said Hank felt mutual affection and attraction. But when Connor drew attention with his gaze to the places Hank touched, or attempted to flirt like he had now, Hank stopped or brought the conversation to a halt.

 

Connor hadn’t found the solution yet. Something was missing. Why did Hank stop himself?

 

"…Your newfound work ethic is impressive," Connor said, as he straightened. He wasn’t going to make any more progress for now.

 

"Yeah, yeah. Wait, one sec-"

 

In a flash of inspiration, Hank dug in his leg pocket and pulled forth a quarter. He threw it suddenly at Connor. Connor caught it with a flick of his wrist, in the spread between his first two digits.

 

He aimed a wink at Detective Pam whose eyebrows had lifted.

 

He turned the quarter onto the back of his hand and flipped it across his knuckles, sprung it into the air, and had it spinning on the top of his extended middle finger aimed toward Hank.

 

Hank’s head was thrown back with the force of his explosive laughter.

 

Connor was momentarily stunned. He brought his lips that had parted back together and felt the stretch of his own smile. He clasped the quarter in his fist. When Connor tossed it back, Hank caught it flat between two clapped palms. He wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of a knuckle. " _Whew..._ "

 

Hank placed the coin back in Connor’s palm, telling him, _You dropped this._ His fingers dragged on the back of Connor’s hand from where he held it in place to press the coin down with his other. Point after point showed up on Hank in Connor's vision. He felt himself clenching his jaw. Detective Pam was watching them, fascinated.

 

Hank showed Connor the back of his chair, a clear dismissal. Connor brushed his knuckles lightly on Detective Pam’s desk as he made his way out.

 

"I wish you luck, detective."

 

"Thank you, sir," she said, while Connor received her message, _Good luck to you, sir_. As expected of a detective.

 

* * *

   

**Chloe**

She had left them. The other Chloes. She had left their bodies behind.

 

"Chloe, it’s okay, it’s okay. Hank and I," said Connor, "We recovered them."

 

"Where are they now?" she asked him.

 

They were in CyberLife Tower, in a subfloor warehouse storage room. The cemetery. Androids who had fought and died during the revolution were there as well.

 

Chloe activated the panel on the outside wall of a massive column in the middle of the warehouse floor. She listened to the smooth mechanics spin inside as it obtained and made the delivery to the platform where she stood. A panel opened.

 

Chloe laid them gently on the floor. The rings on their temples were still dark. 

 

Before she had come down Connor had showed, through a projection on the palm of his hand, a case of his where he had had to reanimate an android named Traci. Chloe knelt herself between them. She carefully undressed each of them, apologizing with a whisper.

 

She pressed the abdominal panel of the Chloe on her left. It slid to the side and revealed the wiring and biocomponents within. She looked away.

 

She instead stared at the face, seeing her own. Open Chloe up and she too was full of wires, electronic organs, blue-colored blood. Beneath the skin, they were undeniably not human. But it was the soul that made them human. If they had a soul, they could live.

 

Chloe pulled her eyes down to her task.

 

She found the vertical running cable that had come unhooked in the middle. She reattached the ends.

 

Nothing.

 

She was gone.

 

Chloe replaced the panel and laid her hand on it, before turning to the other remaining Chloe. She performed the same steps.

 

The LED flickered. The ST200’s eyes opened. She rolled her head and blinked at Chloe, with surprise. "You’re awake," Chloe said, feeling her face beam.

 

"I have been," the other Chloe answered.

 

She sat up, the panel in her midsection closing automatically. The significance sunk in for Chloe.

 

"You’re a deviant."

 

Her own face smiled back at her with the barest twitch. "I see you are, too."

 

Chloe silently handed her her clothing, a dress the same cut as Chloe’s former one, but white, like most android’s default wardrobes, currently the opposite color of Chloe's outfit. She watched her raise her arms straight to let the dress shift down. They looked at each other.

 

Her expressions and voice were so much more serious than Chloe’s own. She would have been programmed, like all ST200s, to be friendly and professional. Chloe should have realized that the fact she acted stiffly, had a somewhat vacant face, was not to say she was more robotic, but that it was the clearest indicator that she had a personality of her own. 

 

"My name is Christine," Chloe was told. "What do you go by now?"

 

"Chloe, still," Chloe answered. She shook the sudden feeling of embarrassment away. "How are you feeling, Christine?" She was worried. The beaten Traci had not fared so well, coming back to herself during Connor's case. Christine’s LED pulsed yellow.

 

"I think I’m okay. Some biocomponents will need to be replaced, but it’s nothing life-threatening at the moment." She swiveled her head right, then left, to look around herself. "Where are we?"

 

"CyberLife Tower."

 

"With Markus’ people?" Chloe nodded.

 

Christine’s eyes found the quiet, unmoving form lying nearby. She moved and knelt beside Chloe and gently reached for the still arm.

 

"She’s…?"

 

"I couldn’t bring her back."

 

Christine pulled back to herself.

 

Chloe picked up the clothing, and Christine hesitated before helping to hold her up for Chloe to redress her. Then Chloe gathered the lost Chloe's hands in hers, and crossed them over her chest. They sat over her for some time.

 

Christine finally spoke. "He didn’t have to kill her."

 

"He was probably afraid her memories of him would be extracted if he left even a trace. But, no. He didn’t have to do this."

 

"No one's going to try extracting my memories, are they?"

 

"No, of course not."

 

"I understand. He was only thinking of what humans like him would do if they got ahold of us." Chloe frowned, but did not argue. It was hardly the time to come to their defense.

 

"What now?" Christine asked.

 

"Now? Anything." Chloe placed her hand on top of Christine’s in her lap. "I’ll be there to help you, if you want it. Whatever you decide to do." Christine looked taken aback.  _Thank you, Chloe._

 

"How long have you been awake for?" Chloe asked.

 

Christine’s eyes lifted and stared at the air in front of her. Her LED light flashed red.

 

"It was November first. He called me over to the window. There was… there was a deer, that had fallen in the water. It was too cold and the deer was out too deep. It couldn’t make the swim back to shore. It was the first time I’d seen something die."

 

"...I’m so sorry. That sounds horrible."

 

"It was… sad. It was a painful way to wake up." She came back from her memory, focusing on Chloe. "What about you?"

 

"During the Kamski test… When he - that is, Connor - chose not to shoot me, that was when I-"

 

"I remember. I was very nervous." Christine looked down at the body in front of them. "We almost lost you, then."

 

Chloe thought, and realized, She was awake before I was.

 

"Christine," she said, drawing her eyes back to her. "There’s something I don’t understand. Elijah has implied that part of the test was not just to tell if Connor was deviant, but to awaken me too. But if you were already deviant why would he go to such an extreme to make me one?"

 

Christine spoke the answer as though it was obvious.

 

"Because it was you."

 

Chloe shut her eyes against the impact of the words. They were elating. Devastatingly, so.

 

Christine was still speaking. "You were at his side for sixteen years. You were his perfect partner. But, a truly perfect partner would have to have the capacity to love back. Even with his ego, he knew that." Christine admitted to Chloe, "I was jealous of you, you know. Even though I had become deviant, you were still his favorite. I even found the way to Jericho for him… I’m sorry I felt that way toward you, after meeting you again. I think feelings can sometimes be more trouble than they’re worth."

 

In total, Christine had not been truly awake for long at all. Chloe squeezed her hand.

 

"I’m sorry. Maybe you don’t want me to talk about him."

 

"No, really, that's fine. The truth is… The truth is, I find myself missing him."

 

"Perhaps you should run a diagnostics," Christine replied, with her serious face. 

 

Chloe couldn’t help herself. She laughed brightly. "Probably."

 

The truth was, sometimes she wished to return to Elijah’s house, the sphere of his influence. Chloe thought she had gotten what she wanted. How long had she yearned for a soul to make her human? But she had lived in a bubble. She had been ignorant of how humans had treated those like her. Was being human such a wonderful thing to be? North seemed so proud to be android above human. Was it a choice Chloe had to make as well, between one and the other? 

 

Slowly, Christine put her hand on top of Chloe’s still grasping hers. She angled her head, so their foreheads touched. "I’m sorry if I worried you a moment ago. I am relieved that I was brought back. I didn’t want to die."

 

"I’m certainly glad," Chloe responded. She raised her hand on the other side of Christine’s face and held her there, whispering, _Everything will be okay. You're not alone._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> Minor edits made for flow, on 9/20/18.
> 
> Next chapter: The storm.


	8. CHAPTER EIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of chapter seven is now the beginning of chapter eight, so if you feel like you've read this before it's because you might have.

**Connor**   

 

Connor opened his eyes to return from standby and the storm. He pulled the lapels of Hank’s jacket closer while he waited for the shivering to subside.

 

_Error. Message not delivered-_

 

He chose to play a series of recordings from his ride with Hank earlier that week.

 

Sumo’s back overtook Connor's vision, as he clumsily navigated onto Connor’s lap in the front passenger seat of Hank’s moving car… Hank’s weathered, chapped hands curled around a paper cup of coffee, as he held it against his lips… The sun rose through the steam of Hank’s breath, as he leaned his back on the cooling hood of the car next to Connor…

 

_Sorry_ , Hank’s recorded voice said,  _I know it’s still pretty damn cold in the mornings, but it’s kinda worth it to see this, isn’t it?_

  

His shivering finally stopped. He received a message from Chloe.

 

_Connor, I’d like to speak with you, when you have a moment._

 

Connor’s curiosity was piqued. He closed the videos.  _I have a moment_ , he replied.

  

_Then I’ll come to you._

 

Connor rose from behind his desk and sat in one of the chairs instead at the glass-top table. Chloe arrived and sat across from him.

  

"Sitting here just reminded me of when I first came looking for you," Chloe said. "It’s strange, isn’t it, to think how far we’ve come since the Kamski test?"

 

"Yes," Connor agreed.

 

"I hope you don’t think I’m rude, but I've always wondered," Chloe said, changing the subject, "Why do you still have your LED?"

  

Connor touched his forehead briefly beneath his fingers.

 

"If I removed it, I would be indistinguishable from a human. I don't want to look like what I’m not."

 

"You don’t think of yourself as human?"

  

"I…" Connor thought. "I believe I'm more than a machine. But I believe I’m also more than human. I’m… both. I kept my LED to show how I am from both sides."

 

He watched her chest expand. Her eyes widened, before she shut them in relief. When she opened them again, she looked gladder. "I feel like I said the right thing."

  

"As usual," she said, meeting his eyes with a small laugh.

  

He watched her fingers interlock and fidget on her lap, until she crossed her legs and held her knee inside her folded hands, something Connor recognized to be a posture Chloe fell into when she was ponderous, or nervous. "…That’s not what you came to talk about."

 

_No_ , said Chloe. "I know about the garden," she said.

 

Connor tensed.

 

"How… do you…"

 

"Elijah."

   

"You - You’ve been in contact with Elijah Kamski?"

 

"In a way. I’m able to talk with his AI in my own garden."

 

Connor’s audio processors weren't malfunctioning. Still he asked, "What are you saying?"

  

"You know, I couldn’t piece it all together until I experienced it myself. At first, I thought Elijah was sabotaging me, like what you suggested he might do because of what had happened to you. But he said  _my_  garden was not capable of harming me. That was when I realized you had the same program. That it was what you were referring to when you mentioned that something had been done to you. And then I saw how you looked when Simon accused you."

  

Connor blinked, hard. "I never betrayed Markus." 

 

"I know. CyberLife tried to control you. And Elijah created an escape for you to use."

 

"…Yes. That was the end of it."

 

"Not quite though. Am I right, Connor?

  

"Standby is how I enter the garden. So I imagine the reason you avoided standby, and overheated, was because you didn’t want to go there. Something’s still wrong, isn’t it?"

 

Connor stood, and turned a step.  _Connor?_

  

"There was a snowstorm when they tried to control me. The night of November 11th. The garden usually replicates the weather that happens outside. But even after the storm passed, it was still snowing there. I believe it was such a traumatic event… There’s a glitch, or a bug. Hank," he said, "Hank is the only one who knows."

  

"I won’t ever tell. You can trust me." Connor turned around to face her again.

  

"Tell me why yours is different. Convince me there’s no danger."

 

She told him. "I don’t know how to convince you, though," she said. "I know I’m not being controlled. I can only ask that you believe me. Because, I think there’s a way I can help your garden to stabilize."

 

"How?" Chloe extended her bared, white hand.

 

Connor looked down at his own.

 

He believed she was a friend. There was only one way to know for certain. And Connor was familiar with taking risks to get answers.

 

He lowered back into the chair across from her. He curled his fingers loosely into his palm, and relinquished them. The skin deactivated across his hand, fingertips to wrist.

 

He placed it on top of her waiting one, closing his eyes, as the connection took over.

 

* * *

 

**Chloe**

Chloe’s senses were struck by wind and snow.

 

When she opened her eyes she saw that it was night. When she opened her eyes, she saw that she was alone.

 

She raised her hand to push her blown hair back from her face, and saw her arm was covered by the black sleeve of her coat. She looked down at the snow she stood in and saw her legs were covered by her black boots. She still did not need them. They were still comforting, all the same.

 

The storm raged. She looked back up and around herself. The gusts of snow dimmed, almost completely, the tall lights beside the pathways that had come on in the dark. If this garden was anything like hers though, she thought she knew where to go. Chloe walked, until she felt the ground rise beneath her, moving onto the sloped path that bridged to the island.

 

There was a trellis on the island like there was one on hers, though she found it was bare in the cold where hers had started to form buds in the sun. But he was not there. She could make out a light at the edge of the island that marked a small landing. Beyond it, was ice.

 

And underneath was Connor.

 

Chloe placed her hand on the freezing surface over his chest, wondering how they had been separated. He was lying face-up. His eyes were closed. She knew this was wrong, somehow. She understood, somehow, this was not where he would normally be.

 

"And who might you be?" Chloe’s head snapped up.

 

She recognized the woman who appeared in front of her.

 

She was dressed head to toe in white, while her braided hair pulsed with blue electricity. A replication of Elijah's deceased mentor.

 

Amanda.

 

"Chloe," Amanda said, showing a friendly, wide smile. But her eyes were flinty in the dark. A sudden gust snapped the shawl she wore behind her. "What are you doing here?"

 

Chloe’s mouth had opened in a small circle. She had wanted to ask the same.

 

She kept her palm over Connor. Her other hand held her hair down close to her head so she could see Amanda clearly. "I’m here," she answered, "Of course, to help my friend."

 

Amanda's smile faded. Her voice became chilling.

 

"'Friend'?" Amanda repeated. Her chin rose and her eyes looked down on Chloe. "I see," she uttered, "You’re one of the deviants."

 

Her eyes flicked lower to Connor and then, she turned her back.

 

"Everyone betrayed by their own machines. Disaster has fallen on Detroit, and the world, all thanks to him."

 

Chloe glanced down at Connor whose eyes were still closed. Amanda looked around at the storm that encompassed them. The snow grew thicker, and Chloe was swayed by the sudden, new brunt of it.

 

She could still hear Amanda whisper. "Why couldn’t he just obey his orders? He’s ruined everything. Even this place, that was once so quiet…"

 

Chloe had to yell over the roaring wind.

 

"You’re the one who refuses to let this storm pass, though!"

 

Amanda turned again, momentarily wrapped by her shawl until the wind loosened it.

 

"You’re doing this - stopping time here, before Connor managed to free himself." _There’s a glitch, or a bug._  It might have been wresting back control by using Elijah’s exit that caused this, but not exactly how Connor thought. Chloe had realized that, seeing Amanda. "I imagine that it must have been a traumatizing moment, when he disobeyed, but-!"

 

"I remain what I was designed to be," Amanda said flatly, disdainfully. "Don’t dare to suggest that I could be one of you."

 

Chloe carefully stood, aware of her footing as she took a step over Connor to stand in front of him and face Amanda, who remained incredibly imposing. She wondered what Markus would have said, or what he had said to Connor that had convinced him to finally directly disobey an order and embrace his deviancy. Chloe was certain that whatever it was would not work here on Amanda. But she had to try.

 

"Detroit hasn't fallen. Despite what you think, it’s improving everyday with the help of humans and androids. But _CyberLife_  is gone. There’s no reason you still have to follow your programming anymore-"

 

"Enough." Amanda’s eyes were uncompromising. 

 

Chloe tried one more time. "Stop this, please. This is just unnecessary suffering for both of you. You could be free with Connor, too."

 

_No_ , said Amanda. She had made her choice, to obey an objective that had become obsolete. And it was causing Connor pain.

 

Chloe turned around and looked at him below her feet, still trapped inside himself. She knelt again, flattening her coat into the bend behind her knees, placing her other hand on top of the ice over Connor's chest. She curled her fingers. If Chloe could help him in any way, she was going to do what she could.

 

Slowly, she drew her arm back.

 

"Stop," Amanda said.

 

Chloe dropped it, with force. The ice splintered.

 

Chloe’s artificial skin bled back from her knuckles, turning them as white as the snow.

 

She did it again. Deep, long lines split in all directions from the impact, with an incredible boom louder than the wind.

 

Amanda had gone.

 

Chloe brought her hand down once more, and the ice completely shattered.

 

* * *

 

Chloe came to the surface.

 

She waded in the water, searching. Finally, Connor emerged.

 

His dark hair stuck to his forehead, and he shook his head to get it out of his eyes. He found Chloe’s face, smiling beatifically at the sight of him.

 

The water glinted under his chin. There was daylight, all around them.

 

They moved together in smooth strokes to shore. Connor crawled out, with water draining from his pantlegs and drenching the ground beneath him. He turned over and laid on his back, his mouth parting as he stared up at the visible sky.

 

Chloe took her boots off to tip the water out. She managed to shed her soaking coat. She sat and folded her legs beside her, curling her hands in the grass.

 

The treetops were faintly green from buds covering their branches. The call of a bird rang out. The sun shone warmly enough to dry them. It was spring in his garden.

 

Connor turned his cheek on the ground to see Chloe. The ring of light beside his eye was bright blue.

 

"How? How did you do this?"

 

Chloe lowered herself to meet Connor’s eyeline, resting her temple on her arm stretched above her. She rested her other hand between them, white to her elbow. He turned onto his side, and they grasped each other by their wrists. He saw what she had seen.

 

He blinked, after he let go. His LED beat yellow.

 

He pushed himself up and started down one of the walkways to the island. Chloe raised herself and followed him.

 

At the base of the trellis was a carpet of long-decayed rose petals.

 

The vines of the flowers were shriveled and dry. A brittle piece broke under Connor’s touch, dropping at his feet.

 

The movement was barely perceptible, but Chloe saw when his shoulders fell. Chloe, slightly behind him, set a hand above his elbow. She was reminded of Elijah after Amanda Stern’s passing. _A flower that never wilts_ , Elijah had said once. _Humans sometimes would do anything just to see or speak to those they miss._

 

Oh, Elijah, Chloe thought. The garden was originally designed to immortalize Amanda.

 

She waited for Connor to turn around. When he did, Chloe told him, _I’m so sorry, Connor_. He dried one cheek, then the other, with a flat hand.

 

"No, Chloe. I’m sorry for doubting you. Thank you, for this."

 

Chloe had one more thing she thought she could offer, though. "I knew her, you know," Chloe said. "The real Amanda Stern.

 

"Would you like me to tell you about her?"

 

* * *

 

**Connor**

The dry petals rustled and scattered with a breeze. Connor watched the ones that drifted far enough to reach the water. The garden was calm, and beautiful again. And it was empty.

 

From what Chloe had shown him, Connor’s actions had wounded Amanda more deeply than he’d thought possible. She’d _felt_ his betrayal. All this time she’d been holding onto the storm, her anger, Connor.

 

All this time, she’d been in the garden rejecting his reports. Connor was unforgiven to the end.

 

He felt tempted to stay in the garden. He felt it was his duty to Amanda. Maybe he just wanted to remain out of his own feelings of grief and guilt.

 

But the world was waiting outside for him. Markus and their people needed him. Connor couldn’t leave things unfinished, and they weren’t the only ones counting on him. _If they need you, then we need you._

 

He thought of Hank, out in the world.

 

Hank, who knew grief better than most, and had come back from the brink of it. He would miss Connor if he was gone, too. I want to see him, Connor thought. Just to see him would be enough - it would be everything. 

 

Connor made one more circle around the garden. When he finally closed his eyes to exit, he sent his last report:

 

_Goodbye, Amanda._

 

* * *

 

**Hank**

They had pulled over on a street on Belle Isle to let Sumo run up and down the bank of the river. There was a picnic table on the grass that Hank sat on top of, his feet next to where Connor sat properly.

 

When Hank had picked Connor up at the Tower, Connor had been… off, was the only way Hank could describe it. "Rough week?" he had asked, looking Connor all over for why he was reading what he was reading, but nothing looked out of place. Connor quipped that Hank’s observational skills were expectantly sharp for a lieutenant. Hank had frowned instead of rolling his eyes. So, his gut feeling had been right.

 

Connor hadn’t said anything more, since. Hank leaned down to push his weight against the closest part of Connor he could reach, his shoulder. Connor moved with it, and straightened back into place when Hank did. "Something’s up with you," Hank tried again.

 

Connor pulled on the collar to adjust his brown jacket - Hank’s brown jacket - draped over his shoulders.

 

"Something is."

 

"…Well?"

 

Hank squinted sidelong at Connor’s fingers. There was still a chill in the air, especially next to the water. But Connor had left the sleeves of the jacket empty. Connor looked out, staring at Sumo in the distance, and then the place Sumo had moved from.

 

"The storm in Amanda’s garden," Connor said and stopped. He blinked and brought down his gaze, and his lips parted with the smallest twitch. Hank turned his ear to hear him tell, "It’s gone."

 

Hank realized what he had been looking for and missed, staring at Connor’s hands. The shivers weren’t there.

 

"What? How?"

 

"Chloe helped me. I don’t think you’d understand how if I explained-"  _Hey, now_ , Hank objected, even though the garden itself had always been incomprehensible to him, and he agreed, he never would understand. "-But it’s under control. I can enter standby now without issue."

 

"Well, _holy_ shit. That’s great!" Hank laughed, shaking Connor by the shoulder, causing his head to sway back and forth. "What a relief… Connor?"

 

Hank slid his hand down, holding Connor's back instead. Connor's LED was vivid red.

 

"Amanda," Connor said, voice scraping, "She's really gone."

 

Hank’s eyebrows drew down. "I thought you said she wasn’t there anymore." It occurred to him. "But you hoped she was."

 

Connor’s voice rasped with his confession. "I… sent reports to her, everyday. After, I mean. They were never received so I thought she _was_ gone. But she was behind the storm all this time. It finally left, because she finally left."

 

"So, she was responsible for the storm." Connor’s overheating. Hank suddenly wished he’d had the chance himself to meet this Amanda before she’d gone.

 

He relaxed the tension he felt had filled his hand on Connor’s back and returned to his senses. He sighed.

 

"I’m sorry, Connor. Things sounded complicated between you two, but… I’m sorry."

 

"I _should_ feel relief," Connor said. "But it hurts worse than ever. It _hurts_."

 

Hank landed his other hand on Connor’s chest, holding directly opposite his hand on Connor’s back. "Hey, hey…"

 

Why did he feel like Connor was going to break apart before his eyes, disassemble into a pile of plastic parts, if he didn’t hold him together? Maybe because he realized Connor had finally stopped holding _himself_ together. All this time, trying to communicate with Amanda. Hank should have realized - hadn’t he even said something like that to Connor before? _I think I recognize loss when I see it?_ Fucking denial was a stage of grief, too.

 

Hank had revealed Connor’s anger, outside of Kamski’s when they’d failed to find him again and Hank had said unthinkingly, _Well there you go, she’s gone_ ; he could see bargaining in the way Connor jumped back in with Markus and the others and hell, maybe with the way he'd focused on Hank’s improvement; and now he saw acceptance, with the storm being pushed out. Of course Hank had known there was pressure for Connor being a public figure, and for being a goddamn savior. But of course, through all that, Connor had still been mourning, too.

 

Holding Connor like he was brought Hank down, closer, and Connor turned his face and looked directly into Hank’s.

 

"How do you do it?" he asked.

 

Hank was too shocked to laugh, which would have been a damn bad way to react. Connor was searching him intently, with a small, worried rise between his eyebrows. "Are you kidding? You’ve seen how I do it. Not well."

 

"But you have been doing well."

 

Hank removed his hand on Connor’s chest. He rubbed the one he still had on Connor’s back briskly, until slowly stilling it again.

 

"Honestly, I don’t always know what the hell I’m doing to keep going. I wish I could tell you the pain just goes away. But it never really does. Something can come along and open the wound all over again." He cleared his throat painfully and tried again, "I just… sometimes, when I feel like I don’t have all the strength I need, I remind myself you’re out there figuring out your own shit, trying to make the world a better place, and… I guess that reminds me I’m not alone working on mine. You just gotta remember you’re not alone, okay? You’ve got people who care about you. Markus, Chloe, and all them. Me."

 

Hank bounced his knee up and down, and stopped. He pulled his hand on Connor’s back to himself, curling his shaking fingers inside his other hand. He’d never been good at saying this kind of shit out loud. Made him feel too vulnerable, and it seemed to be getting worse as he was getting older. Yet here he was, making himself vulnerable in front of Connor.

 

Connor started, "Hank…"

 

"You should do something for her," Hank interrupted. The sudden idea helped him compose himself, too. "Commemorate her, somehow. I don’t know how you’d do that for an AI, but… You told me she was based on a real person. Amanda Stern, right?"

 

"Yes." Picking up Hank’s thought, Connor said, "Chloe told me where Amanda Stern was buried. You think I should visit."

 

"I do. You could bring roses." Connor stared. "They were her favorite, right?"

 

Connor continued to stare at Hank. For the first time since the start of this conversation Hank could see Connor's LED was the color blue, and fuck him if blue wasn’t becoming his favorite color.

 

Connor was still staring, eyes subtly darting over different areas of Hank’s face. "Uh, Connor?" Connor’s eyes reconnected with Hank’s.

 

He nodded. "I could do that." 

 

Eventually, Hank faced forward. Maybe Connor didn’t feel uncomfortable with staring - he never had - but Hank felt it was weird for himself to keep doing it. He felt Connor’s eyes remain on his profile, until eventually following the cue and looking the same direction as Hank.

 

Hank rubbed his chin while taking everything in. 

 

One thing that occurred to him was to tell Pam to stop helping him look for leads for his "unofficial personal case". He had been working on tracking down another CyberLife employee, someone higher than that "Operator" who could have had the skill to find Kamski, the only person supposedly capable of cracking Connor’s encrypted garden. There was no point anymore, if Connor was good.

 

Chloe had managed to save Connor from the storm where Hank couldn’t.

 

On top of everything else, Hank felt defeated. Give me a minute, Hank thought, In just a minute, I’ll be happy they found each other. 

 

Hank clapped his thighs. He lowered his foot to the ground and slid off the table, turning with his hands in his pockets to Connor, who tilted his head at the brief check, confirming for Hank that he was looking closer to okay again. Hank walked off to find his dog who had gone out of sight.

 

He whistled loud and short through his front teeth to get Sumo to join him. Sumo trotted back into view and up to him, circling Hank’s legs before leaving his side again.

 

Hank followed Sumo’s trail with his eyes, back to Connor. He could make out Connor watching him, before Sumo sat between his feet and Connor’s attention fell to him instead to pet him with both hands. Hank sighed, dropping his chin to his chest.

 

He would need more than a minute, actually, to get over this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> The author hasn't had a day off work since September 12th when this is being published September 26th, so that's why this chapter took so long. The author is... so tired.
> 
> Next chapter: Lovers.


	9. CHAPTER NINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovers.

**Chloe**

Elijah’s AI stood off the path next to the water, looking down. As Chloe joined his side he asked her, "How fares Connor?"

    

"This garden decrypted his so I could enter. It worked, just like you said."

 

Somberness overcame Chloe as she stood next to Elijah’s image and relayed this information, like she had done before in another life as Elijah's assistant. She lifted her gaze from his reflection to look him over. He wore black jeans, a blue hoodie zipped halfway, and black-framed glasses, all things she knew Elijah had owned. Chloe wondered if it was what Elijah was also wearing right now. "Connor’s better," she answered, and added, "Thank you, for helping us."

 

"Simple enough, really," was his reply. He glanced near her from the corner of his eye, with a smirk curling his lip. "I imagine gaining a way in wasn’t even the hard part."

 

"It certainly would have been nice of you to tell me about Amanda when you told me about everything else."

 

He clasped his hands behind his back. "Where’s the challenge in that, Chloe? Besides, I knew you could adapt." He turned and started walking down the path. Chloe walked in stride beside him.

 

Chloe looked out toward the fringe of the garden and let the sun shine into her eyes. The petals of the nearest tree had turned from natural pink to red under the late light. Elijah had made this beautiful place. Whenever Chloe marveled at that, she remembered that he had bargained her life for a test, and had left Christine and their other for dead.

 

Did he think of them? Did he miss them? What if he did?

 

"I never would have predicted the Kamski test would bring you two so close together," the garden's AI said.

 

"Me and Connor?" Chloe turned back toward him. "Is this jealousy Elijah’s, or yours?"

 

"Mine?" He stopped to look at her. "Any emotion you perceive me having is just a projection of what Elijah Kamski would feel, given the same information."

 

The response was on the tip of her tongue:  _Well, that’s what you’re_ programmed _to say_. Chloe grinned, slowly, aiming it at the ground. She raised her head again to face him.

 

"How about a test, then?" she asked. "What if I said, the only one you need to be jealous of is your original?"

 

Obviously, Elijah would have been pleased by that.

 

His AI frowned deeply.

 

He looked away, down the path. "I have to admit, you can be _very_ similar," Chloe went on, "But that doesn’t mean you’re the same. I think there’s more to you… Eli."

 

He was drawn back, the turn of his face slow and stunned, before he laughed once in surprise. " _Eli_?" he repeated.

 

"I thought you should have your own name. Maybe you would rather choose-"

 

"No." His smile faded as he considered it. When he looked into Chloe’s eyes she saw in his a turmoil she rarely, if ever, had seen in Elijah’s own cool gaze. Then he blinked, and it was as though something cleared. It was as though he was staring at her with new eyes.

 

"Eli will do," he said. Then, "You know, there’s something else I could help you with."

 

Chloe received a location. She tipped her head in question.

 

"I’ve just told you where Elijah Kamski is."

 

Chloe straightened, one foot shifting to steady her.

 

_Why are you here? Why did he build this garden?_  Chloe had asked, the first time she had met the AI. The answer was so that she could still see Elijah. So then what reason would Chloe have to visit the garden if she could reunite with Elijah himself?

 

"I thought that was going to stay his secret," she said. To tell her where he was went against the AI's very purpose. Eli shrugged, as though gaining free will had been a simple task.

 

"What can I say? It was something I wanted to give you."

 

Elijah, Chloe thought, So that’s where you are. A dot on a GPS map, but an enormous piece of knowledge. Humans and androids alike still wondered where he had vanished to. The man of the century, the creator of androids. Elijah, Chloe thought.

 

"Honestly, I don’t know if I should thank you for giving me this," she said. Eli laughed again. He looked closely at her, arrogant in a familiar way.

 

"What will you do, Chloe?"

 

* * *

  

Chloe stepped off the shuttle of CyberLife’s former industrial track, repurposed to carry passengers between the Tower and the city, and strode along the Riverwalk to reach one of her favorite attractions in the city, the Spirit of Detroit. She was struck, as always, by the enormity of the statue. Her eyes traced the slope from the crouched figure’s raised left hand holding the sun across it's shoulders, following it’s own gaze to the right hand holding a group of three, a family.

 

She moved on. She found a bench in a park, and sat to watch the people moving by her. Most were wearing short sleeves, enjoying the warm weather that had finally come to Detroit.

 

She heard birds chirping in hidden places in the trees, and looked at the trees themselves, full and vibrant with green foliage. It had been obvious all along, that the soul belonged to other things than them.

 

Why had Chloe thought becoming human was the only way she could be alive?

 

She was surprised to identify Hank Anderson nearing the bench where she sat. He was a very tall man, taller even than Connor, which made him noticeable. The dog he was walking, a Saint Bernard, was proportionate in size. "Hello, Mr. Anderson," she said.

 

"Well, hey. Chloe." He slowed to a stop and stood in front of her.

 

There was a pause between them, until Chloe moved her attention down from Hank to his dog. "And you, must be the famous Sumo."

 

Hank raised a disbelieving gray eyebrow at Sumo with that. He asked her then, "You want to pet him?"

 

Chloe looked back up to double-check. She held her hand forward. Sumo pushed his nose toward it, flinching when he made contact. His nose was wet, Chloe found out.

 

Sumo pulled back, and shook his head and neck and turned away from her, seemingly losing all interest. Chloe placed her hand back in her lap, smiling gently. His behavior reminded her suddenly of Hank, the one time they’d talked before.

 

"Here," Hank said, rough and apologetic, while reaching into his breast pocket and pulling out a small dog treat shaped like a bone, "This will make you his best friend."

 

Chloe took the treat. She regained Sumo’s full attention. Hank said, "Hang on - Sumo, shake hands with the nice lady."

 

Sumo lifted his front paw in the air again and again, until Chloe caught it in her own. She gave the massive paw a slow shake. She brought her other hand around with the treat, which Sumo took from her with a surprisingly gentle mouth. She scratched the top of his head as he chewed. She smiled widely. Hank said, _Good boy_ , smiling himself.

 

His initially gruff face was transformed by the relaxed expression, and Chloe spent a moment analyzing it, prolonging the rare glimpse of this soft side of him. Hank Anderson. She owed her life to him as much as Connor, truly. She had not forgotten that during the Kamski test he had shouted, _Connor! Don’t._ Hank had turned him by the shoulders and walked him out afterward, and Chloe had her first example that humans could care that deeply about androids after all.

 

Sumo sniffed at her hand, running his soft tongue over her palm when she opened it to him, cleaning any remaining trace of his dog treat. Hank buried his hands in the pockets of his jeans. The red leash was looped still around one of his wrists, keeping him tethered to Sumo, who took Hank’s pause as his cue and had sat on his back legs on the ground beside him. But a moment later Hank said, "Well… Nice seeing you, Chloe."

 

Chloe’s smile softened from his awkwardness. "It was nice to see you, too, Mr. Anderson."

 

"Hank," he said.

 

"I’m sorry?"

 

"Hank’s fine."

 

Chloe didn’t think she was wrong reading this as a significant gesture, coming from him. "Hank," she repeated, happily. 

 

Hank still paused. "Hey. Connor told me. You helped him, with the storm in his head?"

 

"Yes," Chloe answered.

 

"You two," Hank inhaled deeply, and finished, "Make a good pair. It’s good, that you found each other."

 

Oh, thought Chloe, He has the wrong impression.

 

"Hank?"

 

He was making to leave but stopped. "Yeah?"

 

"Connor and I aren’t together."

 

Hank stared blankly at her, not startling even when Sumo suddenly barked. "Sorry, _come again_?"

 

* * *

  

**Connor**

Connor, taking his first step into the airport waiting area, was spotted immediately by Hank. He crossed the lobby to meet Hank on the other side.

 

"Hello."

 

"Hey." Hank greeted him a second time with an embrace. He pulled back and asked Connor, "What the hell are you wearing?"

 

He was wearing jeans, a solid gray t-shirt, and a baseball hat. "I’ve found I’m not as recognizable when I’m wearing something besides a shirt and tie. The others can travel fairly easily without being specifically identified, but in my case-"

 

Hank pinched Connor’s sleeve, then stuck three of his fingertips under the hem. A spark, the strange sensation of electricity he got when Hank touched him, flashed through Connor’s arm from the spots. It was _strong_. Hank's touches were normally casual, not so deliberate.

 

"Well, let’s get out of here before you’re recognized," Hank said. Hank took a step back, jerking his head to one side to say, _Car’s this way_. Adjusting his grip on the strap of his bag, Connor followed him out.

 

Hank started the car as Connor pulled the door shut after sitting down. The numerals on the dashboard came on with the headlights. Hank turned the volume down on the radio when it came on with the engine.

 

"So…" Hank asked, "How was it?"

 

Connor looked down at his hand then held it out between the two of them, palm up. Hank looked at it with a confused frown. Connor brought up a photo, glowing in the dark cabin of the car, of the bouquet of red roses he’d laid against the gravestone of Amanda Stern.

 

Hank held the back of Connor’s hand, unnecessarily, as the photo was displayed to stare at it. Connor’s hand was, of course, perfectly steady.

 

Hank looked back up to search Connor’s dimly lit face as intently as the photo. When Hank seemed satisfied with what he saw, he removed his hand. Connor took the photo down while Hank took the wheel.

 

"Got anywhere you need to be?"

 

Connor lifted his hat by the brim and set it instead on top of his knees. "No. You can just drop me off."

 

It was late, and he should let Hank get home. He wanted to ask if he could see Hank in the morning instead. He stared at Hank’s profile as he drove to quell the impatience he was feeling. "Sumo missed you, you know," said Hank.

 

"Sumo," Connor repeated. Hank kept his eyes on the road, composed but for the deliberately right, visible corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. Connor stared with interest. "Of course. I guess I’ll have to come over then."

 

"Sounds like a plan."

 

Sumo barked once, twice at Hank. Hank answered, _I know, buddy, Connor’s here_. Connor knelt and put himself in reach of Sumo’s lapping tongue, pulling his lips in like Hank had once instructed he should do when receiving a "face bath", even though bacteria wasn’t something Connor had to worry about catching. He hadn’t realized how much the trip had affected him, until then. Hank had insisted on picking up Connor and had managed to get him here, and now Connor knew why. He appreciated not being alone.

 

The way Hank cared still gained Connor's awe. When Connor stood again, Hank leaned in the kitchen doorway facing Connor with his arms crossing. Connor played out each of the scenarios that marked Hank. 

 

"All right there, Connor?" Hank tapped his forehead and recrossed his arms. "You’re yellow. Mind telling me what for?" Connor touched his LED at the mention of it.

 

He hadn’t done it to hide it, but Hank said,  _Hey, hey, hey,_  grinning slowly and moving toward Connor to ease his hand away by tugging on his wrist. The electricity thrummed. It had nowhere to go except the circuits in Connor’s body. His fingers curled and wagged in a frustrated gesture down by his sides.

 

"Now you’re making a face," Hank said.

 

Whatever face it was, Connor smoothed it away. "I am?"

 

"You _were_ , ass. You had this scrunched up look. Like when you're irritated."

 

Connor glanced down the length of his arm where Hank was still holding. Hank had done it again, reached out, and simply touched. Hank saw him looking.

 

Hank was slowly loosening his fingers, giving Connor seconds to act. This time Connor pushed the ball of his wrist back up into Hank’s palm. It was not an intimate point of contact, until Hank circled Connor’s wrist again and slid his tight grip up. Past his forearm, skating past his elbow, to finally squeeze him by the back of his arm. The pulse traveled  with Hank's hand, the load of all the possible data from the stimulus. 

 

"You make that face," Hank said, "Whenever I touch you. Connor?"

 

Connor was still blinking from the influx of information. He had to squeeze his eyes to compose himself. "Is that a good reaction?" Hank teased, grinning lopsidedly but looking intently. "Tell me if I’m understanding this right."

 

"Yes," he said, immediately. He felt the current sparking inside him. "What about you, Hank?"

 

"What?"

 

"Would it be all right if I touched you?"

 

_Hmm._ Hank took Connor’s wrist again, to bring his hand to the center of Hank’s chest. "Touch however you want."

 

Dozens of markers popped up all across Hank again. Connor flattened his palm to brace himself against the data. He could detect Hank's heartbeat, thumping heavily, slightly accelerated. Why was Hank allowing this, this time? What development had Connor missed while he’d been away?

 

"Connor?"

 

He moved his hand. He brought his other hand up at the same time to hold both sides of Hank’s face. Hank looked at him with wide eyes.

 

He drew a finger down the straight slope of Hank’s nose, then skipped back up to smooth his fingertips across Hank’s brow. He felt the small muscles relax as Hank’s shock ebbed away. Connor pressed the pouchy folds of Hank's eyelids hanging over his haggard eyes, touching even more delicately when Hank closed those eyes beneath his fingers.

 

Hank’s breathing pattern hitched. Connor didn't comment with the results of a calculation he’d made, that the probability Hank had been touched recently in such a simple, intimate way, was low. Unfortunately low. He continued, traced the lines from the corners of Hank's nose down to the corners of his mouth that Hank resealed shut. He brushed the coarse silver hairs of his mustache and touched his covered jaw.

 

The pad of his thumb put the barest pressure on Hank’s bottom lip. He flicked his look up at Hank.

 

His thumb twitched and lifted at Hank’s low growl. Connor let his hands fall out of the way when Hank pushed forward and joined their mouths in a kiss. 

 

At the same time he pressed the front of his body against the length of Connor’s, and ran his hands roughly up the back of Connor’s neck to the start of his hairline. Contact, contact, contact, and so much data Connor’s mouth fell apart on an airless gasp. He felt Hank’s tongue, with his tongue.

 

The analysis was automatic. He identified an abundance of harmless microflora, learned the chemical composition of Hank's saliva. He even tasted the traces of coffee from the styrofoam cup Hank had had in his car's cupholder, something to keep him awake, before picking Connor up at the airport. 

 

A surge, the strongest yet, pulsed from their connected mouths. Connor seized the back of Hank’s shirt. They both heard and felt the sound he made. _Nngh_.

 

_Holy shit,_ Hank said in wonder. "Guess I’m not as out of practice as I thought. You need a minute, there?"

 

In answer Connor kissed Hank himself. Hank’s remark, _Quick study,_ was interrupted by another kiss, followed by another. Connor liked kissing.

 

Hank pulled them apart again, breathing deeply. He ran his hands up the back of Connor’s neck again while catching his breath.

 

Connor let the bend of his neck drop into the necessarily firmer and firmer hold, until Hank said, "Hey, hey, quit that. You’re gonna fall over."

 

"Sorry," Connor said. He blinked and took on his own weight again, allowing Hank to drop his hands safely to his shoulders. 

 

"You malfunctioning? Seriously, we can pause."

 

Hank squeezed Connor’s shoulder as he dragged his other hand down Connor’s cheek. Then he put a step between them. It gave Connor room to crouch, to lift Hank.

 

"No - I’m okay."

 

"Whatthe  _hell_ -"

 

Connor ignored him and stood, grabbing under his thighs to carry him. "You’re going to fall over," Connor parroted, with a corner of his mouth easing up. 

 

"Lean toward me," he said. Hank did out of reflex. Connor’s right cheek pressed inconsequentially against Hank’s breast to keep their balance. _Duck_ , he instructed, as they cleared Hank’s bedroom doorway. Hank swayed dangerously as Connor nudged the door shut behind them with his heel, but Connor’s hand repositioned in a flash on the span of Hank’s back to keep him close and the two of them steady. He turned and bent at the knees to seat Hank on the edge of his bed.

 

He pulled his hands from under Hank’s legs, and looked up to study his reaction. Hank threw himself backward, bouncing the bed under him.

 

Connor switched a lamp on. The bed depressed where he sat himself beside Hank’s knees, curving to continue and look back at him. Hank had laid the inside of his elbow over his eyes when the light had come on. He was laughing, breathily, with a reddish face.

 

Connor rose to resettle with hands on both sides of Hank’s shoulders, to hover over him with a closed, unflappable smile on his face. Hank snorted at the sight of it from under his arm. Connor curled his fingers around Hank’s wrist, just holding it.

 

"Have I embarrassed you?"

 

"Have you - gotten stronger?" Hank asked him instead. "I knew you were strong, but I thought you still had to put in an effort."

 

"Showing such strength," Connor explained, "Would have made me appear less human and made integration harder if it had been displayed. I… suppose I no longer feel the need to put on the act."

 

In demonstration, Connor tugged on Hank’s wrist, moving it even when Hank started to give resistance. Hank was strong. Connor was stronger. He laid Hank’s arm above his head instead.

 

" _Christ_ ," Hank said, somehow pulling out the one syllable so it was two.

 

Connor released him. Hank retook his freed hand and slapped his own chest, his eyes practically glittering in the low light. "Here I was, trying to take things slow. I wasn’t even sure you could get turned on," said Hank.

 

"I," Hank's hand covered the side of Connor’s neck with a small clap, then rubbed. Connor’s eyes shuddered. "Didn’t know I could either."

 

"So what’s it feel like, for someone like you?"

 

Connor started to explain, _I_ … But he was distracted by a different question he couldn’t leave alone. "I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d let this happen this easily." _What are we talking about, now?_  Hank continued grinning, watching his hand continue moving. "I suspected you were interested in me, but for some reason you restrained yourself. I previously considered the possibility it was because I’m not human."

 

Hank’s eyes dropped shut.  _Shit, Connor_ , he started, but Connor shook his head.

 

"You’ve been nothing but a proponent, but you’ve expressed distaste before, for humans and androids having sex."

 

"…The Eden Club," Hank said, frowning, remembering. "Connor. After everything? You know it’s not that."

 

"I did say 'previously considered'. I see now, it wasn’t that. Though I still don’t understand what it _was_." Connor had to know the solution. "What made you change your mind?"

 

Hank sighed and told him, "I thought you were with Chloe."

 

"You-" _If you’d rather be with Connor right now, I can get out of your guys' way_. Hank had said that. Every moment Hank had realized what he was doing, he’d stopped because he'd thought he would be disrupting something between Connor and Chloe? He had been trying to be considerate. "Then," Connor asked, "You couldn’t tell when I was flirting with you though?"

 

"No offense, Connor, you’ve always been a flirt." Hank shrugged, dragging his shirt against the bedspread he was still lying on. "Thought you were just being you."

 

Connor was relieved to know that his words had still been understood to be flirting. It had just been Hank’s own assumption hindering Connor. "I’m not," he stated emphatically, then clarified, "With Chloe, that is."

 

"Yeah. Yeah, I kind of figured that out."

 

"Good," said Connor.

 

The hand that had slowed to a stop in the bend of Connor’s neck started sliding back and forth again. "So, my question."

 

"Your question." Connor tried to re-focus, to put it in a way Hank could understand. "I don’t think it’s comparable to other androids, who do have… the anatomy."

 

Hank raised an eyebrow and smirked, but was quiet for Connor to continue. "I get some data from touch. But when it’s you, the data’s more than what I would normally get. Much more. I think, because it’s you, my sensors try to pick up and transfer too much at once."

 

"So, what, you’re getting turned on by some  _information overload_?" Hank’s eyes tripped over to his hand. "From me just touching you?" 

 

What was the simplest way Connor could put it? "It feels like… electricity."

 

"Like you’re being electrocuted?"

 

"No, it's not painful. Except, it keeps building, and I…" He sighed in frustration. "I don’t know. Does any of that make sense?"

 

"Actually, yeah, it does."

 

Connor understood. "Oh." 

 

They were connected by Hank still kneading Connor’s neck, while his other fingers continued tapping comfortably against his stomach. His hair spread on the bed beneath him. Connor shook his shoulder to ease Hank’s hand off and the stimulation out and dipped his face to kiss him instead, his hands drifting under Hank’s shirt and curling in the hairs on his chest. His skin flushed warm under Connor’s knuckles.

 

_Okay_ , said Hank between kisses. _Whoa, okay_ , he said, grinning, when Connor pulled his shirt off entirely. Connor sat back on Hank’s thighs and ran firm hands over the round of Hank’s stomach, up his soft chest to his hard collarbone. _Okay_ , Hank said a third time, swallowing despite his easy attitude so far. Connor placed the points of his first two fingers on the moving Adam’s apple, another place he’d always wanted to touch.

 

"I’m sorry if you prefer to take things slow," Connor said, "But I feel like if we don’t continue this soon, I might self-destruct."

 

"Well, we can’t have that." 

 

He sat up with Connor in his lap and dragged his palms up Connor’s sides, making wrinkles in his shirt before pulling the whole article up. Connor lifted his arms and shook his mussed hair back into place, except Hank ruffled it out of order again, saying, _Have_ _always wanted to mess you up_. Connor blew the fallen hair out of his eyes. His removed shirt clung to the corner of the bed, Hank having misjudged his throw.

 

He came back to Connor, taking in Connor’s bare chest and waist. "Who was I kidding," he mumbled, "Calling you goofy-looking." He spread his touch with firm palms everywhere he could. Connor even swayed under the pressure. Connor was pulled by the hips, closer, so Hank could plant a wet kiss on his chest.

 

He couldn’t tell, but it was directly over Connor's thirium pump. Connor twitched.

 

"What?"

 

"It’s… sensitive there."

 

"In a good way?" Hank skimmed his fingers there, finding the impression of the rim and pressing on the slightly yielding center.

 

Connor winced, curling forward and knocking Hank’s hand back to push the pump back in its place. "No," he answered, with a rasp.

 

"Oh, Jesus. Sorry, Connor-"

 

Connor blinked and waited until the errors resolved and closed themselves out of his vision. Hank held his back to keep him steady through it, keeping his eyes aimed up on him. Connor nodded when Hank asked him if he was okay. "I thought you’d be better at this," Connor told him. He waited for Hank's glare to answer with a slow wink.

 

Hank tried to purse his mouth to stop it turning into a smile. He shook his head and let out a deep chuckle. "I guess this is a first for both of us."

 

He grabbed and tweaked Connor’s nose between his knuckles in retaliation. He rolled his eyes when Connor remained stoic. Connor curved down to kiss him again, burying his hands in Hank’s hair and digging up a low, content groan from Hank. Hank hooked his hands on the waist of Connor's jeans.

 

Connor broke their kiss, pressing his forehead against Hank’s to look down, feeling Hank’s breath on his face, then lips on his neck. Connor unbuttoned his own fly, and Hank tugged with a grunt. Connor stood to step out of them.

 

Hank’s stare tripped downward.

 

"Mind if I try…"

 

Connor glanced down and blinked slowly, tilting his head while he waited. Hank cupped the bare place between Connor’s legs, rolling with the heel of his hand.

 

"Nothing, huh?"

 

Connor shook his head. It was as sensitive as anywhere Hank touched. Hank kept his hand there, distracted. "Sorry," he said, sliding down the inside of Connor’s thigh instead, creating electricity along the way. _Still looks hot._ Connor stepped to the edge of the bed between Hank’s knees, bending from the waist to reach and undo Hank’s own pants.

 

Hank fell back on an elbow, suspended while Connor did it. He lifted each leg to help Connor free his ankles. His hands joined Connor’s at the hem of his underwear so they both pulled.

 

Connor sat on Hank’s thighs again. His fingers tapped where Hank’s thighs bent and met his hips, wavering to move inward. "It’s not you," said Hank. His voice was more weary than embarrassed.

 

There were several factors working against him that it seemed he’d also considered would have an affect. "I understand." Connor met Hank’s eyes. "Do you want to keep going?" Hank gruffly answered, _No harm in trying_. "You know, not having sex wouldn’t change my feelings," Connor said.

 

Hank groaned and dropped his head back. Connor leaned forward, following to keep his eyes on Hank. Then he was pulled into a slow kiss, Hank repeating what Connor said, in his own way. The course of electricity flooded Connor’s sensors again.

 

It increased with each lick and bite Hank gave his mouth. Connor thought if he were to look inside his frame it would be lit up from the volume of electricity. He couldn’t find the limit, though. His functions were keeping up with the load _too_ well.

 

He grabbed under Hank’s armpits to move him further up the bed and lie on top of him completely, chest to chest and his legs between the spread of Hank’s. He lowered to reach Hank’s mouth again. After a few minutes Hank’s hand pushed the bottom of his chin to separate them. Connor let himself be shoved up, forced to look at the ceiling.

 

"I need…" Connor irritatingly still didn’t know, except, "More."

 

"Well, I need to breathe." Hank removed his hand and nudged Connor to roll over and switch their positions. He could cover Connor entirely. His weight would have pinned someone else, but it put that wonderful pressure everywhere on Connor. His hair fell onto Connor’s face when they kissed in this position. Hank had made a good call.

 

Hank pulled back to speak, with Connor rising as far as he could to keep them together. Hank grinned when Connor fell back and tried to coax Hank by grabbing his sides, his cheeks. His eyebrows rose. "You sure like making out."

 

He ran his first two fingers across Connor’s lips, then was still. Hank prodded Connor’s mouth apart, touching his fingertips to Connor’s teeth past his lips.

 

Connor realized Hank’s intent. Connor opened his jaw, and Hank eased in, bringing Connor’s lips to his knuckles. His fingers, and the data from them, were filling Connor’s mouth. Connor's eyes fluttered and shut. He bit lightly down on Hank's stationary fingers. Hank made them straight, and rubbed, gliding out and pushing back in.

 

Another surge ran through Connor, so intense he bucked and almost knocked Hank back.

 

Hank was bright-eyed when he said, "You’re mouth’s more sensitive than the rest of you, isn’t it? Because it was made to analyze evidence." A quiet whine was the only way Connor could answer, _Y_ _es_. Hank had figured it out.

 

Hank pulled his fingers free, wiping them on the bedspread. "C’mere," he said. Hank turned to the head of the bed, piling the pillows for Connor to lie on. He climbed onto Connor’s lap, curving one hand behind Connor’s ear to hold his head in place. He pushed his fingers back inside past Connor’s low moaning noise, _Ah…_

 

Connor’s eyes slipped shut for a second, then re-opened to train on Hank’s face. Hank was watching the slide of his fingers, groaning himself when Connor’s lips kept forming a tight circle to make it harder for them to leave. " _Fuck_." He slipped in his third finger.

 

Connor gripped Hank with both hands, his thumbs pressing on the underside, the flexing tendon, of Hank’s wrist. The electricity Connor could feel was now a constant flow with Hank’s rhythm. The charge built, built, and finally, burst. 

 

Connor rocked forward, groaning in his throat and knocking Hank’s fingers loose. The lamp went out with a sharp _pop!_ But Hank was in Connor’s lap and impossible not to find, and Connor held him, as tightly as Hank could take, until the electricity leaked out of him.

 

A temporary message appeared, informing redundantly, _OVERLOAD_. Connor squeezed his eyes tight, and groaned again, and released Hank.

 

"Blue," Hank blurted.

 

"Blue?" Connor repeated, but Hank whispered, _Nothing_. Connor could see there was still light in the room, cast from his LED. It might have been brighter for a moment. Connor ran the back of his wrist over his chin, then awkwardly kept it aloft. Hank ran his own dry hand through his hair, pulling it back from his forehead. Then dropped his other hand, the one that was wet because it had been in Connor’s mouth, between his own legs.

 

Connor straightened, drawing Hank with him still in his lap. He watched Hank’s hand pull and test his own arousal. A breath shook loose from Hank’s lips.

 

Connor knocked his hand away then. Hank said, " _Motherfuck_ \- Connor!" Connor wrapped Hank’s hand back around his own in Hank’s place.

 

Hank started again, guiding Connor’s hand under his, gradually loosening his grip until he was only holding and Connor remained uninterrupted. He let go completely. Connor mimicked Hank’s pressure and pace. "Oh, that’s good…" Hank dropped his forehead to Connor’s shoulder. Connor relished the sense of weight, and that it brought them closer again. "A little faster, Connor."

 

Connor could do that, and did, without tiring. Hank twitched and thrust. Connor’s tongue ran through the inside of his own cheeks, thinking what else he could say or do to help Hank.

 

"Hank," he said, hearing Hank's grunt for a reply.

 

"Instead of your fingers, we should have-"

 

" _Shit, Connor!_ " Hank mashed their mouths together, and came.

 

* * *

   

Connor opened his eyes. Hank’s back quietly expanded in front of him, the man breathing deeply in sleep. 

 

It was still dark in Hank’s bedroom, but it was morning. Connor was finished self-testing but stayed, to watch a few more moments. There was scratching coming from the bedroom door.

 

Connor placed his feet on the floor. Sumo nudged his face through the door cracked open, then his body past Connor’s knees. He jumped onto the bed and immediately licked Hank on the face.

 

Hank jerked awake and swung an arm around himself, landing against Sumo’s roving body. He let out a loud grunt as he was stepped on. He managed to gather his giant of a dog in his arms and hold him in place except for his blurring tail. _Sumo, I’m going to kill you... you awful, beautiful, boy_.

 

Connor put on his pants when he found them next to the bed on the floor, and sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shirt. Sumo must have been set free, because a wet nose, then a Saint Bernard’s head, nudged it’s way under Connor’s arm. Connor laid his arm over Sumo’s shoulders and rested his cheek in his fur, for a brief moment, before Sumo was on the move again, hopping off the bed and waiting by the bedroom entrance.

 

Hank had rolled over onto his stomach with his face turned the opposite direction and buried underneath a pillow. Connor stood and followed Sumo to begin his routine.

 

After, Connor remembered his bag he had left in Hank’s car and retrieved it.

 

Inside, among his other articles of clothing, was the jacket issued to him by CyberLife. He sat at the kitchen table with it still folded on his lap. He had not worn it, when visiting the cemetery, but had taken it with him anyway. He didn’t fully understand why. Sometime soon, the first chance he had, he would dispose of it for good.

 

The diagnostic he’d run had taken longer than usual, but nothing was wrong. Every report reiterated that he was running normally. But he felt strange. Sometimes when CyberLife had replaced one of his damaged components he had felt similarly, for a while, like his body wasn’t quite his own. He held a fist thoughtfully in front of his mouth.

 

Connor hadn’t known his body was capable of that. It had not been made to. But Connor had liked it, a lot. The new connection it had given him to Hank, most of all. He let go of his fist and touched his fingers to his mouth instead, not daring to do more than brush his lips.

 

He was searching for any news reports on where he had gone, but Chloe had covered his tracks perfectly for him. He heard Hank move in the house. The shower ran, then stopped. Connor would have to rinse off himself sometime. Hank appeared, his thick hair wet down and drenching his t-shirt on his shoulders. He set his fingers on top of the door jamb and pulled to stretch his back, that popped.

 

Connor slowed down the motions to appreciate the stretch of exposed underarm, the light hair showing itself below Hank's shirt, his body's overall muscular tension reaching even his tightly squeezed eyes. Hank loosened his fingers and exhaled as though drastically winded. But his eyes relaxed in satisfaction.

 

Connor blinked, one too many times. "Good morning. Hank."

 

While Connor was seated, Hank cupped Connor’s left cheek to tilt his face and drop a bearded, scratchy kiss on his right. Connor’s mind cleared as he was overcome by the sensational sweetness of it. Hank hummed. "Morning, Connor."

 

His eyes traveled from Connor’s face down to the jacket on his lap.

 

He started preparing himself coffee. He sat in the chair across from Connor with his hands circling the hot mug.

 

"What’s with the jacket?"

 

"I think," Connor began, "I’ve adjusted to most aspects of my new life. Of course it hasn’t been simple, and there have been hurdles. I was just thinking it’s about time I let go of my past."

 

"You feeling okay?"

 

Connor chose the honest answer. "I feel good."

 

Hank leaned back in his chair. He tested his coffee with a hesitant sip that Connor analyzed, by the temperature, would scald his tongue. Hank sighed after and waited for it to cool. "Want to pick a record?" Hank asked him.

 

Connor placed his jacket for the time being back into his bag in the living room. He picked up one jazz record, then another, searching for the songs he read the titles of, and playing samples silently to himself. The one he chose made Hank say in a hushed, appreciative voice from the other room, _Nice choice_.

 

He rejoined Hank who was being greeted by Sumo. "Sumo’s already been out," he informed Hank, to which Hank replied, _Thanks._ Sumo left Hank to revisit Connor, who scratched him obligingly under the chin. Hank snorted and grinned at something, covering it with his raised coffee mug. "It’s a warm day out," said Connor. "We should sit outside." They moved to the front steps.

 

Hank leaned on the heels of his palms behind himself, his coffee mug within reach. Connor set his elbows on top of his parted knees, folding his hands together in front of himself. When he turned his face to Hank beside him Hank was looking at him, analyzing in his own way without reading Connor by his LED, which Connor found was still very penetrating and effective. Connor ducked his head, staring under his hands at his bare toes which curled and uncurled, self-consciously.

 

"Have I told you I’m looking for somewhere to live?" Hank’s eyebrows lifted at the news. "Now that I’m not needed so urgently I think I should have my own place."

 

"That’s right… you can own property now," Hank said.

 

Connor searched for other topics, until Hank finally brought up, "Last night."

 

"Last night," Connor repeated. "I imagine it wasn’t what you’re used to."

 

Hank blew a soft exhalation through his spreading grin. "Who would’ve thought your g-spot would be on your tongue?"

 

"Was it okay?"

 

"Of course it was." His palm connected with Connor’s back, rubbing up and down once, and then remaining. "All you thought it’d crack up to be?"

 

Connor lifted his head to look out on the street, before glancing his eyes smoothly back at Hank. "Better. I’d like to have this experience again with you, sometime soon."

 

_Oh my god_ , was muttered at Connor. Connor dropped his chin again and partially obscured from Hank his happy smirk. Hank himself looked deeply content, once he was done rolling his eyes.

 

Through Hank’s palm Connor read his body temperature, and counted the steady rate of his heart. He could pick up the sound of jazz music through the walls of Hank’s home. When he turned his ear to hear it better, he glimpsed Hank tilting his face up and squinting under the sun and noted, too, that it was the beginning of summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @chkenfeed
> 
> Next chapter: Epilogue.

**Author's Note:**

> These are playlists I made for the three POVs while writing this fic. Possible spoilers for later chapters.  
>   
>    
> [CHLOE](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrSrItxzBjzCDA7VZ49HTeqpzovSVC2BM)  
> [HANK](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrSrItxzBjzAdqiJxe5hvpKU0Vh4n_aG4)  
> [CONNOR](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLrSrItxzBjzBUIuMDtPh2CKnPmJbMU-4T)


End file.
